Hallelujah
by Appreciates Fine Labrats
Summary: While trying to cope with the aftermath of the Demetrius James incident, Greg falls headfirst into something wonderful and terrifying. Greg/OC
1. Late

**This is a departure for me, I know. But I got the idea/bug, and I can't really help that. There will be a little angst, though, and there will definitely be lots in the sequel which I'm already planning. I guess you could say this is the story that had to happen to set up the nice angst later. Updates will be weekly since I have it all written out already.**

______

Greg stared out the office window absently, not really seeing what was outside. Afternoon sunlight illuminated what would have been a lovely rooftop garden, had he not been in a phenomenally gloomy mood. It wasn't in him to be appreciative today, though he'd soon have to plaster on a fake smile and head to work. If he wasn't late, that is. His eyes flicked to the clock on the desk. Yep, definitely late. Resuming his observation of the city beyond the roof, he slumped further into the uncomfortable office chair, one leg drawn up to his chest.

The room was nondescript, roughly similar to offices the world over, except that by some fortunate twist it had a great view of the city. Dirty, crime-ridden Vegas, thought Greg bitterly. The office had little in the way of opulence; no fuzzy-bottomed mahogany penholder set, no gold-trimmed plaques or claw-footed bookcases. No, the office spoke of a different kind of love. Family photographs framed colourful drawings of stick people, a gesture made even more sickeningly poignant by the child's scrawl in their corners. Love you, Daddy!

Greg scowled at his reflection in the window's glass. Everything in the office reminded him of his present troubles, but all he could do was ignore it and brood.

A click from behind brought him back. He hunched his shoulders further and turned to the person who'd just entered.

"All right, Greg, I've got the papers all ready. Sorry it took so long — the copier broke, again. You know how those things are," explained a cheerful man as he crossed to stand behind his desk. He was middle aged, with a smile-creased face and a slightly receding hairline. Greg would've liked him, but for the circumstances that brought them together. He regretted his lack of enthusiasm, so he humored the man with a lopsided grin.

"That's great," he said.

"Now, since the coroner's inquest ruled in your favour, we should have an easier time of it, but the media's already gotten wind of it so they'll want a quick resolution."

Greg nodded again, face tightening.

"I want you to relax, Greg," continued the man, obviously trying to be reassuring. "You have a strong case."

Greg nodded again, face carefully wooden. He felt much like a puppet these days. "Is that it?" he murmured. "I gotta, uh, get to work."

The man smiled at him, holding out the papers. Greg stood up stiffly and took them from his hands, using a pen from the desk to sign them hurriedly. All of a sudden he was desperate to get out of there. Shaking the man's hand quickly, Greg thanked him and rushed out of the building. He checked his watch and cursed under his breath. Definitely late.

______

"Have you heard the rumours?"

Hodges leaned in across the table towards them with exaggerated secrecy. The team was in the break room, having just received their assignments and getting themselves ready for shift. Nick and Warrick were half-seriously betting on the night's cases — Nick was desperate to get back at Warrick for winning the last five. Catherine prepared coffee while periodically slamming cupboards in frustration at being unable to find Greg's stash.

Only Sara took Hodges' bait, though Nick and Warrick raised their eyebrows at each other, grinning tolerantly.

"What rumours?" she asked, ignoring his conspiratorial stance.

"You finally hooked up with Ecklie?" quipped Warrick.

Nick stifled a laugh as Hodges' eager smile turned into a scowl.

"Maybe your fantasies are about Conrad, Warrick, but not mine. More like, Mia's leaving and there's plenty of speculation about her replacement."

"Wait, Mia's getting replaced?" interrupted Warrick. He regretted never having made a serious pass at her, and Nick, knowing exactly what he was thinking, punched him in the arm. Warrick shrugged unapologetically.

"I didn't hear that Mia's leaving," said a slightly more interested Sara.

"Yeah, well that's where the rumours start," continued Hodges with rolled eyes in Warrick's direction. He finally had them eating out of his palm, and who cared if the information wasn't more reliable than a fleeting glance by the lobby security guards?

"It was very sudden, and no one knows exactly why she's going. Bobby thinks it's all a big conspiracy, very hush hush. Some even think she's dead."

Nick immediately scoffed at the idea. "Bobby's not a conspiracy nut, he didn't say that. Now Archie, maybe."

"We'd have heard about that. It's probably something completely normal, like a transfer," said Catherine from across the room, glaring at Hodges for spreading such ridiculous stories.

"Well!" he sniffed, "I have it on good sources that her replacement might be from Internal Affairs, sent to check up on our department, 'cause of...you know."

At this Sara stood up, taking a threatening step towards Hodges. He flinched and stepped back under her withering gaze.

"Ok it's probably not!" he covered quickly, arms raised in surrender.

"And stop being such a weasel, Hodges," muttered Sara distastefully, turning to Catherine. "You don't think...?"

"I'm sure everything's fine, Sara," replied a calm Catherine. "The coroner's inquest ruled and everyone's accepted it."

"Not everyone," said Nick darkly. "They _are_ suing him."

The team became silent, thinking about how their friends' life had been turned upside down. Sara glowered at Hodges, blaming him for bringing the topic up. What a weasel, she thought.

Warrick leaned out the door and craned his neck to look into the empty DNA lab.

"Well the new guy's not here yet—"

"New girl."

"How do you know it's a her?" asked Warrick, staring suspiciously at Hodges.

"My contacts in the wardrobe department," said Hodges, a smug look crossing his face while he made air quotes, "say there was a request made for a woman's lab coat. Size extra small. And unless we're getting another Sanders..."

"It's a wonder how you ever get your real work done," muttered Catherine.

"Practice," smirked Hodges.

"Where are Grissom and Greg?" asked Nick.

"Greg's late of course. Which in this case is probably a good thing, considering your guys' uncanny ability to gossip about everything under the sun," sniped Catherine.

"Hey, Hodges brought it up," said Sara.

Glad for the distraction, Nick motioned to the door. "Speak of the devil, there's Gris with...the undersheriff."

They exchanged glances with one another as Grissom entered the room with a scowling undersheriff and a woman they guessed was Mia's replacement. She was of average height, but slim. Her hair was a burnt orange that swung easily past her shoulders, and she walked with a confident gait. She surveyed the room calmly and a hint of a smile played around her lips.

Grissom motioned to her. "This is Viviane Lahtinen. She'll be our new DNA tech." The undersheriff said nothing but his stiff face warned them not to ask any questions.

"Is Mia all right?" ventured Nick anyway, choosing to focus his eyes on Grissom instead.

"She's fine. She had a family emergency and had to move to Washington quickly. Luckily she knew Viviane here was looking to move and offered her the spot," said Grissom.

Catherine shot Hodges an 'I told you so' glance. He pretended not to notice and stared at the woman beside Grissom instead. Noticing Hodges' slightly leery gaze, Nick and Warrick stepped forward, extending their hands.

"Welcome to the lab, Viviane," beamed Nick.

"Yeah welcome," said Warrick, shaking her hand.

"Thank you," she nodded her head to each of them.

Grissom looked from one to the other suspiciously before letting it go. "Where's Greg? I thought he could show Viviane around the DNA lab," he asked, shooting his unruly team the sternest look he could muster.

"We thought you might know," said Catherine.

"Well I guess I'll have to get someone else to do it then."

Hodges stepped forward, smiling greasily. "It would be my pleasure to do it, boss."

Grissom looked at him distastefully. "Well I guess you know it almost as well as your own, so go ahead."

With a final glance at Grissom, who smiled encouragingly, Viviane followed Hodges down the hallway.

"Poor girl. Are you sure putting her in Hodges' care is the best way to make a good first impression?" joked Nick.

Grissom gave him a withering look. "Would you mind telling me what that was all about?" he asked when Hodges and Viviane were out of sight. He crossed his arms and stared the team down expectantly.

"We were just worried about Mia," said Catherine smoothly, giving Grissom her best smile, but he wasn't buying it. She endured his gaze for a few moments before looking away sheepishly.

"Mia is fine. Her grandfather is sick and her family lives in D.C. She told me she'd been thinking of moving back for a while. So you can all stop with the conspiracy theories. Viviane is not an assassin hired to kill us _or_ an FBI informant."

"Maybe not FBI..." muttered Sara.

"Just try to make her feel welcome," said Grissom in exasperation.

"Will do, boss," agreed Nick quickly.

______

It was a few hours into shift when Greg finally rushed into the building. The team had already been to the scene and back, and were now taking stock of the evidence in an anteroom, so they saw him coming before he saw them. He was a man with a purpose until he came to his former lab, and it was as if he'd hit a brick wall. The double-take was painfully obvious, but he soon regained his purpose and began walking again, albeit more slowly and with frequent glances backwards. The dazed look on his face remained until he entered the room his team was in. There was a slight flush to his face and he looked somewhat bewildered.

"Hey Greg," greeted Nick. "You all right?"

Greg's face was still turned to the DNA lab; from this room a glimpse of red hair could be seen moving about.

"Hey, Greg!" exclaimed Warrick as he came to the table. A pained look crossed Greg's face.

"Who is that?" he asked, frowning.

"Our new DNA chick," replied Warrick, staring at him oddly.

"Damn, guys! You don't know what you've done!" Greg burst out, turning to face them.

"What's that?" asked Grissom as he peered over the top of his glasses at the increasingly agitated man.

"You hired a redhead! You don't know what they do to me," whined Greg, grasping his head dramatically. "They're like my cryptonite!"

Nick and Warrick burst into laughter and even Sara and Catherine had to chuckle. Grissom's mouth twitched, but with herculean effort he managed to keep his composure.

"I'm sure you'll survive, Greg," he said. "Speaking of which; why were you late?"

An uncomfortable silence filled the room. Greg's mood dampened instantly under Grissom's direct stare. It seemed as if he wasn't going to say anything, then, "I was at my lawyer's office." Greg looked up boldly, staring Grissom down, though they could all see the uncertainty and pain he was trying to hide.

Grissom relented slightly. "Well, just don't make it a habit, all right? In the meantime you can help Nick and Catherine on their case."

When Grissom left the room, Warrick patted Greg's shoulder. "And that's about as close to an apology as you're ever going to get from Grissom."

Greg smiled crookedly.

"And about that other thing," said Nick with a grin. "Why don't you just go for it? She's gorgeous."

"That is, if she'll have you. She's way out of your league, man," Warrick laughed.

Not one to back down from a challenge, Greg perked up, a familiar spark of mischievous defiance in his eye. "Hey, don't write off my chances just yet," he retorted. "She _is_ into DNA..."

"Whoa, whoa. Greg, man, just don't do what you did last time. I don't think this girl will take too kindly to you checkin' out her epithelials — and I think she'll definitely know what you're up to," grinned Nick. He was serious — mostly. Mostly he just wanted to see Greg go after Viviane and bet on the outcome.

Greg mused out loud, "I'll have to take things slow with her."

Warrick rolled his eyes at them both. Nick seemed amused, for the time being at least. He hadn't delved into his own feelings about Viviane yet; after all, she was just as available to him as to Greg. Why shouldn't he take a stab as well?

Sara and Catherine witnessed the exchange silently, growing disbelief on their faces. Finally Sara spoke up, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"If you're done trading her on the strike-out market, do you mind? We have work to do."

Nick and Greg looked up guiltily. It was all well and good to joke around, man to man, but when it came to real women, their approach left much to be desired. Greg was the first to recover. He weighed several alternatives and finally picked the one which would work better in the long term.

Stepping forward, he threw an arm around Sara's shoulders and put on his most winsome expression.

"Are you a little jealous, Sara? Don't worry, you'll always be my first love."

Nick and Catherine stared at him, aghast. It seemed Greg was trying very hard to get himself killed.

Sara's face first registered shock, then defeat. She tried to hide the smile creeping up, but Greg's disarming grin swam in front of her, shutting down every attempt she made to keep a straight face. He was just too outrageous. Finally she gave up.

"Well, all right, Greg. I'll stay your first love, and wish you luck with her. Just don't let the fact that you've never managed to get any of the girls here to give you the time of day throw off your game. 500th time's the charm!"

Greg's mock crestfallen face was enough for her. She left the room quickly on her high note, glad she'd been able to divert the conversation away from that first topic. Looking back, Sara had to admit she was, in fact, jealous. She hardly dared hope that Grissom would ever make such a spectacle of himself over her. She knew it should be insulting, but really there was no harm in a little showboating. She knew Greg well enough to know he was less than smooth with girls, and intimidated by Nick's considerable experience. As for Viviane, who knew if he would even approach her.

Nick and Catherine were still somewhat in shock from Greg's daring tactic. Greg, meanwhile, had begun reviewing the case evidence. He'd revealed too much about his feelings for the new lab tech, he knew. But Greg really hadn't anticipated his reaction to her. The single glimpse he'd caught through the glass had literally taken his breath away. Her smile was imprinted in his mind, bright hair flashing through the corners of his psyche.

On closer inspection he realized he'd been trying to gauge Nick and Warrick's reactions to the tech. Thankfully they didn't seem interested, and certainly didn't recognize what a spark inhabited the DNA lab at the moment. If his grandparents had taught him one thing, it was to trust his instincts, and to never let go of that one incredible spirit, once found.

The rest of the night passed without incident. The team kept their conversation carefully off the subject of conspiracies, not because they were worried about offending anyone, but because there really wasn't much to talk about. Slowly the news filtered around the building, first through lab techs, then through other personnel.

Greg never made it into the DNA lab that night, though he itched to talk to the girl. For some reason either Nick or Grissom or Catherine had him continuously running to and fro, and Sara seemed to be going out of her way to avoid him. That was fine with Greg. Though they'd brushed it off with a joke, neither was ready to tackle the real issue that had been brought up by his outrageous save earlier. Greg knew Sara was jealous, and knew Sara would see through his macho act.

Truthfully, he was a little ashamed of his behaviour in front of Nick and Warrick. It wasn't the real Greg, and certainly not the one he wanted the lab tech to see. He decided to blame it on the rough day with the lawyer and the shock of her presence. At this he stopped in his tracks, realizing he hadn't even found out her name. Raising his eyes to the ceiling, he silently thanked chance. It would be the perfect conversation starter.

Towards the morning Greg finally had a chance to make his way to the DNA lab. She was inside, moving between machines purposefully. Greg suddenly experienced the telltale signs of stage-fright. Briefly he considered giving up and trying again another night, but he quickly slapped himself mentally. There never would be a better time, and some inexplicable force was drawing him inside.

He hovered outside the door for some time before stepping through with his chin up. He wasn't really ready, but he thought he'd seen Hodges coming around the corner, and no amount of nervousness was worse than being ridiculed by him for being too scared to talk to a girl.

She looked up as soon as he stepped through the door, though Greg thought he was being quiet. A brilliant smile broke out over her face and Greg was dazzled for a second time. There was something about her...She was like a star whose light had obliterated a part of his brain.

I wonder how she sounds, came the feeble thought he managed to form.

"Well hello there! Decided to stop lurking, have we? What can I do for you?" she grinned. Her voice was deep and rich; it reminded him of Christmas handbells.

Ordinarily he would be mortified, but there was no hint of mocking in her voice.

"Just checking out the competition," he replied smoothly with a saucy wink. Extending his hand, he continued, "My name's Greg Sanders. I used to be the DNA tech. This was my lab. I hope you've been treating her...it well."

He tried to control himself but his nervous tongue got away from him, and the last part came out in a rush.

She only smiled again and clasped his hand in return, shaking it firmly.

"Viviane Lahtinen. It's very nice to meet you. I do hope I give her justice," she joked back.

"Lahtinen? Is that European?"

"Yes, it is! My father was Finnish."

She seemed genuinely excited that he'd noticed. Greg was amazed how easily they spoke. It was like they'd been friends for years. Suddenly he was afraid they could never be more than that. The lab was no place for a romance, and judging by her effect on him after just one glance, he didn't think he could survive a full-blown romance. Greg noticed with embarrassment that he'd stopped talking and Viviane was looking at him questioningly.

"I'm sorry, memories!" he covered. She didn't seem to buy it, but didn't make an issue of it, so he continued.

"Viviane, that's a beautiful name."

"My mother named me after the Lady in the Lake," she said.

"Of Arthurian legend?"

"The very same," she smiled.

"My mother named me after Sir Gregory, the 11th knight to join Arthur's round table."

"I'm sure. And did he kill Sir Galahad, the previous holder of that spot?"

"They reached a mutual agreement. And...I'm out of ideas! Well played," Greg grinned in defeat.

"Score one," she grinned back. "So what brings you to your humble abode?" She motioned around.

"Well, I hate to mix business with pleasure, but I actually did have a reason for coming. Grissom sent me to get the Wilkinson results. I know it's a little early, but —"

"Here they are," she said, reaching across the table to lift a sheet from a stack of papers. "Actually, you can take all of these, they pertain to your case too."

She extended the entire stack and Greg accepted it in mild disbelief.

"Well, milady, you just might have broken my record!"

Viviane smiled easily, leaning back against the counter. Playing with the papers, Greg glanced towards the hallway. He didn't want to leave, but he'd already stayed much longer than anticipated. Grissom would be waiting, and after the pass he'd gotten at the beginning of shift he couldn't afford to get on Grissom's nerves.

Finally Greg couldn't find any more excuses to stay. He vowed to return with a better subject of conversation.

"Well, I'm going to give this to Grissom. He hates to be kept waiting," he said regretfully.

"And you were already late today. Better get a move on," she said, winking.

"How'd you know I was late?" he asked, curiosity getting the better of him. He was already almost out the door.

"You weren't at the assignment meeting."

"Right..."

Greg shook his head and stepped into the hallway. Damn those redheads, he thought. I'm in serious trouble. She's too...

He didn't manage to finish that thought. Just as he rounded the corner his fear came true. He was confronted by an irate Grissom. Greg covered his face with the results and tried to pretend he wasn't there.

"Not so fast," said Grissom, stopping him in his tracks.

"Hey boss!" rebounded Greg, popping out from behind the papers. "I got those results for you! Boy isn't Viviane great? She finished them in record time!"

"Then shouldn't I have received them in record time?" Grissom shot him a withering glance over the rims of his glasses.

"Should have or could have?"

"Just give them to me!" snapped Grissom.

Greg handed them over. As Grissom looked over the papers he made his escape, slipping down a side hallway.

Spying Nick in the garage, he popped his head through the door.

"Hey Nick, do you have anything that needs to go to DNA?"

Nick's head appeared from under a car. There was a smudge of grease on his forehead.

"Hey Ghandi, there's grease on your face," smirked Greg as he walked over to the wreck in the middle of the room.

"Ghandi? Where'd that come from?" grunted Nick as he wiped his face with a sleeve, succeeding only in spreading the smudge over half his face. Greg suppressed a laugh and grabbed a clean towel from a nearby rack. Squatting by Nick's head he dropped the towel on his face.

"Ghandi is for your buzz and righteous 'tude."

"Last I heard, Ghandi wasn't a surfer dude, and I thought you said it looked good." Nick wiped his face and threw the towel back at Greg, who shrugged.

"Well anything is better than that pornstache. I was afraid to go out in public with you."

Nick raised an eyebrow tolerantly. "All right Greg, what's up?"

Greg shifted uncomfortably and slid down to sit against the car. He fiddled with the towel in his hands. Waiting patiently, Nick silently wondered if something had happened while Greg was at the lawyer's.

Noticing the concerned look on Nick's face, Greg smiled.

"It's not about the lawsuit, don't worry. Grissom actually got me a pretty good lawyer."

The concern melted slightly. "So what is it then, G?"

"Viviane. Are you going to go for it?" blurted Greg, staring at Nick.

Caught by surprise, Nick just shrugged. He hadn't thought much about it, at least not after Sara's words earlier.

"Because I'm not. I don't think I could handle anything serious right now, with the lawsuit and all. Besides, office romances never work out, right?" Greg laughed awkwardly, then plowed on, merciless to his feelings and common sense.

"But if you do go for it, just be careful, ok? I mean, she's not...like other girls. She's not a one night stand and — well, she has a light, she is a light. She's...special," finished Greg lamely.

A stunned silence followed his words, but Nick didn't laugh as Greg had feared.

"Wow, Greg. Um. I honestly hadn't really thought about it," said Nick with a compassionate look. "And anyways, do you really think she'd go for me? I'm more of a BBQ chicken kind of gal, and she seems like a DNA soup and Norwegian fish balls kind of girl."

"Did you just call yourself a gal?" joked Greg weakly.

"You know what I meant. I don't think anyone would mind if you dated inside the coven. Well, maybe Ecklie would, but who cares what he thinks anyways," Nick smiled warmly. "We cool?

"Yeah, we're cool," replied Greg, looking away in embarrassment. He was touched by Nick's words. The more he thought about it, the more appealing the idea sounded. Why couldn't he date her? He stood up, throwing the dirty towel into the waste basket.

"One last question."

"What's that?" came Nick's muffled reply from beneath the car.

"What the heck is DNA soup?" laughed Greg from the doorway.

Nick's head popped into sight again. "Oh you know, when you add the stuff in the test tube and jiggle it around, or when two DNerds get jiggy with it, the resulting —"

"OK! Too much information!" Greg threw over his shoulder as he quickly made his exit. Nick's voice followed him into the hallway.

"That's for the crack about Ghandi!"


	2. Revelations

**Since I don't anticipate getting many reviews on this story (Greg and OC romances never seem to be very popular, I wonder why haha) I'll probably post it twice a week just to get it out of my hair faster. That and I want to get started on the next, more angsty stories I have planned.**

By morning Greg had again decided not to pursue Viviane romantically. Amazingly, the decision lasted longer than a day. He was sent out most of the next night, and could only catch a few lines of conversation and glimpses through the glass walls. That was fine by him. Through no fault of her own, he lost all coherent thought around Viviane, and most often forgot what he'd set out to do. But he couldn't stay away for long, even when he made up his mind firmly. He loved to bask in her glow. She was at once calming and electrifying, and her presence was intoxicating to him. Little by little he coaxed her into divulging her life's story, which was fascinating in itself. By her second week at the lab, the romantic stirrings in Greg had subsided. He was content to be her friend, and they developed a fast accord, as strong as any connection he'd made at the lab.

Viviane was almost better at her job than Greg, though he'd never admit it. Still, he enjoyed her efficiency by proxy and was fiercely proud of it. He wondered how she managed such speed when he was almost constantly underfoot, doing his work at a counter which was always conveniently empty. She never seemed to hurry, yet she was always moving smoothly from counter to counter, filling pipettes with machine-like precision.

One day he looked up from his work in surprise. As always when he sought her out, she felt it and turned to look at him, a question in her eyes.

"I can't believe I haven't asked you where you went to school!" he exclaimed.

She laughed. "Johns Hopkins and Harvard. What about you?"

"I'm a Stanford man," said Greg proudly.

"Stanford, huh," she grinned. "I had a roommate once that went to Stanford. I think he was mentally deranged."

"Oh, very funny," he feigned hurt, and they went back to their content harmony.

Eventually Greg became busier and busier outside the lab, hardly getting any time to pop into Viviane's room to say hello or grab a coffee. An irrational part of him was convinced Grissom was doing it on purpose as punishment for spending so much time with her, but he quickly dismissed it. His work hadn't suffered for it, in fact Viviane often managed to solve his cases with a few well-placed suggestions. She had a knowledge of forensics that far surpassed any of the lab techs. He began to wonder at it, but was soon distracted by his responsibilities.

One night after a few weeks of absence Greg walked down the hall towards the DNA lab when he saw the now-familiar red hair hovering in the doorway. Viviane leaned against the frame, arms crossed and a pensive expression on her face.

Greg quickened his pace and jumped in front of her, throwing his arms out in a great show of exuberance.

She was less than surprised. Flashing a small smile, she cocked her head to the side and looked at him.

"Greg," she said quietly. "You never come by anymore."

"I'm here now, baby," he grinned, posing extravagantly.

Laughing helplessly, she motioned him inside.

______

That week the double murders of Alvarez and Corteo, two infamous gunrunners with mile-long hit lists set everyone on edge. They'd managed to smuggle a shipment of assault rifles into the country before dying, and it had mysteriously gone missing, no doubt taken by the same person who'd shot the competition. The county made no secret of the immediate need to find the shipment before even more guns ended up on the streets of Vegas, so the entire lab was commissioned to work the case. Greg was assigned to help Nick and Warrick fingerprint the truck; it was empty save for the dead bodies of the gunrunners.

"Hey, G!" greeted Nick. He was immensely glad that Greg had been put on their job; with the recent weeks there had been no time to talk and Nick had to admit he missed the bouncy Greg. It seemed he was now living in a cloud, present when addressed but always some part of him was away, listening to an inner voice or memory.

Greg beamed at Nick and came to squat beside him, dusting the square foot adjacent.

"How you doing, Nick?"

"Not bad, man. How's the hunt going?" joked Nick. Really, he was curious. Viviane was kind and courteous to everyone, but she was still somewhat reserved with them. Everyone but Greg. Nick had been right about her not being his type. He saw them sometimes through the glass, locked in some private joke. There was a way she made the room light up that made Nick envious, though he could now see that he would have little in common with her. He'd heard them talking for hours about the latest developments in nanotechnology and DNA sequencing.

"Oh, you know," replied Greg evasively. "It's going."

Nick gave him a sideways glance, wondering at the sudden shyness, but if Greg didn't want to talk about it, he wasn't going to press the issue. They spent the hour happily dusting for prints, engaging in lighthearted banter and trading stories about past escapades with women. On that topic it was mostly Nick who talked.

When Warrick finally came into the truck, after they'd dusted over half of it, Nick elbowed Greg with a grin. Missing Warrick's disgruntled look, Nick motioned him over.

"Hey bro, look who finally showed up! Better late than never, huh?" Nick laughed with Greg, until they saw that Warrick wasn't joining in.

"What's wrong, man?" asked Nick in concern.

"Did you know we're going to be working with ATF on this one?" Warrick frowned, crossing his arms.

"Aw, seriously?" exclaimed Nick, standing up. "Why do federal agencies always feel the need to horn in on the high-profile cases?"

"Apparently one of the vics, Petri, was on the ATF most wanted for a while. They were running a long-term op to get to his suppliers. Looks to me like they got to him first," said Warrick.

Nick and Greg nodded their agreement soberly.

When they arrived back at the lab, it was teeming with men and women in black jackets. Nick nudged Greg, nodding his head towards the group.

"Feds," he whispered.

Greg grinned at him.

A man approached them as they entered the waiting area. From his purposeful walk they guessed him to be the leader.

"Jack Ellis, ATF. Nice to meet you," he said, extending his hand.

"Nick Stokes. This is Greg Sanders," said Nick warily, shaking Jack's hand.

"You don't have to worry, gentlemen. I don't bite. We have no interest in taking over your case. Petri isn't much use to us now that he's dead — we'll have to move onto someone else. We just want to know whether his supplier killed him or a client. A little information swap."

Nick nodded, but glanced dubiously at the agents milling around.

"Then what are they doing here?" he asked.

Jack chuckled, almost sheepishly. "Actually they heard I'd be coming here and kind of followed me. They're here to see Viv."

Greg and Nick glanced, surprised, at each other.

"How do you guys know Viviane?" asked Greg.

Jack stared at him in disbelief. "What, you mean you didn't know? She never told you what she did before coming here?"

They shook their heads silently.

"She worked for ATF for four years," said Jack, still shaking his head in disbelief.

"Right. As a lab tech," nodded Greg.

"No way!" exclaimed Jack. "Viv worked fugitive gunrunners and the biggest drug lords — she was the best our department's ever had! She took down more suppliers and cartels than anyone. She's a legend. She was my boss."

Greg gaped at him, mind reeling from this news.

"Whew...well, we'd be glad to show you to her lab," said Nick, stepping forward.

Greg was silent. He wasn't surprised that Viviane had been a field agent — her knowledge of crime was too extensive for someone confined to a lab. He was even pleased to learn that she, too, had wanted the freedom that came with being a field agent. He mostly felt betrayed by her omission. Such an important part of her life — and a legend, too?

He followed Nick and Jack numbly, still disturbed by the information. Nick continued talking to Jack as they walked through the halls, people turning to stare at the group of ATF agents trailing them.

Greg tuned into the conversation just as Nick asked the question he was most curious about.

"Why did she quit the field? That seems like a big change."

"We were closing in on a big supplier in Phoenix with ties to over a dozen drug lords in South America, but...it didn't go so well. She was injured pretty badly and couldn't return to active field duty, so they put her on desk duty, then the lab. But I guess it was just too painful. One day she just got up and left. Left a lot of friends behind, too," said Jack ruefully.

Nick whistled under his breath as they came to Viviane's lab. She was inside with her back to the door, busy with something. Jack knocked and she turned expectantly, a half-smile forming. When she saw Jack and the ATF agents crowding the doorway, the smile froze for a second, then melted into a pleased look.

"Jack! Sierra...Pete...What are you doing here?" she asked, hugging each of them in turn.

"We could ask you the same question. Have you finally come to your senses and decided to move back to Phoenix?" laughed a female agent.

Viviane chuckled wryly. "You know if it wasn't for you and Glenn I'd have never stayed in that hellhole so long."

"It's not that bad," grinned Jack.

Viviane visited for a while with the ATF agents before they finally left just as shift ended. Nick had left some time ago, but Greg stayed until they were alone at last. He glanced at the clock guiltily. Reasoning that he could stay after shift and catch up on his work, he decided not to leave.

She sat on a stool, deep in thought. Greg watched silently before pulling up a chair next to her.

"You didn't seem quite as happy to see them as they were to see you," he ventured.

Viviane looked at him quickly, shaking her head. "That's not it, of course." She hesitated. "At least not entirely."

"Do you want to talk about it? I know you didn't tell us you worked with them for a reason..."

Greg tried to keep the hurt out of his voice. Really, he knew he was being childish, that a few months didn't mean he knew Viviane very well, that she had to tell him everything. Still, the omission stung.

Viviane shook her head wearily. "I know you're angry at me for not telling you. I understand. I'm glad now...that it's out. And truly, I wasn't purposefully misleading anyone. Had I been asked, I wouldn't have lied." She rubbed her face tiredly, looking up at Greg. "I just...wasn't ready to deal with my decision to leave."

Greg's resentment melted away and he was somewhat ashamed of his feelings. He placed a tentative hand on her shoulder.

"When I was injured..." she continued haltingly.

"You don't have to talk about it," said Greg, patting her awkwardly.

"No, it's fine," replied Viviane firmly. "I was a good agent. The best, maybe. And I loved it. So when I was injured and they put me in the lab...Well, it was just too painful."

"I can understand that," smiled Greg. "I'd die if I was stuck in a lab again."

He stopped, mouth open as his words escaped, too late to take them back. Viviane raised her eyebrows at him, to which he shrugged apologetically until she relented with a wry chuckle.

"Yes, well, I don't mind. I've had quite a bit of excitement in my life already. It's nice to settle down for a while," she continued.

"Would you ever consider becoming a CSI? With your experience it wouldn't be too hard. And it's not too physical a job."

"Maybe. You know, I just feel...It's over. That part of my life, I had to choose. And once I made that choice, there was no going back," she said, bowing her head. "Besides, it's nice to focus on my other love."

She smiled and looked around the lab. "Don't you ever miss it?" she asked.

"Sometimes. When I have to spend hours collecting evidence when I know the DNA will solve the case," he grinned.

"Then it pays to be me," she grinned back.

"So..uh..where did you get hurt?" he asked tentatively.

"The hip, the leg." Settling into her chair, she began to recall that fateful day for him as he listened in rapt attention.


	3. Deals

**Still trying to do some research for this one; there's some points I'm not sure about which I will edit later if it turns out I'm wrong, but it's minor so I'll put it out there anyways. Enjoy!**

Over the next few weeks Greg tried to find out as much as he could about his office crush. After their initial breakthrough, where he'd sat mesmerized as she told him about the day that had changed her life, he became even more curious. Greg had heard all his life that he was strange, but she was definitely one of the most eccentric people _he'd_ ever met. Her favourite food was salt pork because it reminded her of her mother, but she'd also eat anything put in front of her. She liked to put maple syrup on everything, but wouldn't touch sauces of any other kind. The sight of chicken, cooked in any way, sent her into rapture, and she would always eat it skin first. She had a very complicated system for filing her reports — different pens for each section, and if someone stole those pens she'd be upset for days until she bought new ones. He'd made that mistake one day. She smoked in high school for a week, then quit because her brother took her to a morgue and made her look into a smoker's lungs. It also made her decide to go into science. Her parents died when she was 12 and living in Finland, and her brother had already moved to the US, so she was forced to move in with him while he completed Navy training. It was a trying time for both of them, so she took up running to relieve stress. She knew by heart the names of all the top runners in the world since 1910, and their fastest times. Meanwhile her brother taught her everything he learned during his time off, which had made her almost as well-trained as a SEAL. She could tie 50 different kinds of knots.

She was also an excellent singer, as he found out one day. He often thought back to the incident with fondness. Popping in on his break, as usual, Greg started to say something, until he noticed that Viviane's back was to the door and she was filling out paperwork. Usually she would turn as soon as he came in, but at the moment she had headphones on and couldn't hear him enter, so he moved as quietly as he could to see if he could sneak up on her for once. Evidently the song had come to its climax, because her humming became louder and louder and suddenly she burst into song, throwing her head back and belting it out. It startled Greg so much that he stumbled backwards. After his initial shock he straightened and grinned. She was singing with such exuberance, clearly unaware there was someone else in the room. And she really was a good singer — the notes came easily and her voice was strong. He stood there for a while, enjoying her singing, when the song apparently ended and silence descended on the room. Greg leaned over her shoulder slightly and looked at the music player's screen.

"That was great. What was it?" he asked, quite close to her ear.

Viviane yelped and nearly fell out of her chair away from his voice. Head whipping around, she made a face sheepishly as Greg dissolved into laughter.

"It's my favourite song," she blushed, standing up and sweeping the player off the table into her pocket.

He continued laughing for a while before managing to regain his composure. It was just so unusual to see her surprised by anything — she was almost unflappable most of the time. He finally straightened up.

"You sing really well," he said with a straight face.

"Thank you," she said, huffing adorably. "Now get out." She pushed him bodily out the door despite his protests, grumbling about interruptions while she was trying to work.

______

Greg found her one day rifling through the fridge. He stopped in the doorway and watched her sway to invisible music. He knew he shouldn't be doing it, but he'd managed to control himself so far; what was the harm in a little peek? Busy rationalizing to himself, he didn't see the figure coming up behind him. A heavy hand dropped to his shoulder and made him jump guiltily.

"Doing a little sightseeing there, buddy?" laughed Nick.

Greg flushed red and quickly looked away. Hearing the commotion at the door, Viviane had poked her head out of the fridge. Not wanting to cause his friend further embarassment, Nick pulled him into the room casually and spoke loudly.

"Whatcha doin' there, Viv?"

"Just fixing myself a snack," she replied, brandishing a pickle and a jar of peanut butter. She stared at Greg mischievously, eyes twinkling.

"Pickles and peanut butter?" Nick made a face.

"Yes, sir. It's too bad I didn't bring hot peppers, it's not quite complete without them."

"Gross," joked Nick.

"Says the man who eats flies?" she retorted.

"It was just one fly, and it was a dare!" laughed Nick. "But I see how it is. How about I don't make fun of what you eat and you lay off my favourite foods?"

"Deal," smiled Viviane before taking a bite of pickle.

Nick was paged soon after and left the room in a hurry; Greg had meanwhile recovered from his bout of mortification and settled to watching, fascinated, as Viviane dipped pickles in peanut butter and ate them. Noticing his stare, she fixed him with one of her enigmatic smiles.

"So did you like what you saw?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Just deny, deny until you're out of breath, thought Greg frantically.

"Saw what? What did I see?" he choked out.

"You were looking at my butt, Greg," she said matter-of-factly, licking peanut butter from her fingers.

"No I wasn't," he shook his head vehemently.

"Did you somehow forget that I'm a trained detective, Greg?" she smiled.

"No..." he squirmed.

Why do you have to look so damn bewitching, he asked silently. And that red hair...

Stop licking yourself, he scolded silently.

Perhaps she saw the pleading expression in his eyes, because she dropped the subject and steered the conversation into calmer topics.

______

Coming home after a long night of work, Greg tossed his keys onto the kitchen counter and wearily shrugged his jacket off. Carrying it and his backpack in one hand, he nudged open the door to his bedroom with one shoulder and strode into the room. As he entered something inside stopped him in his tracks.

She was on his bed, hair splayed over his blue pillows and legs seductively extended towards him. The wind whistled in through the open window, curtains buffed by ghostly hands. Her skin pricked from the invisible contact and looked at once chilly and molten hot. His eyes, now adjusted to the dim light, travelled over her naked body. He observed how the moonlight glinted off the smooth nape of her neck, ran over her pearlescent belly and down her long legs. The thump of his bags hitting the floor reverberated through the room and the air crackled with anticipation. He remained silent, breathing in the cool night air.

Her moist lips parted and she spoke. "So did you like what you saw?"

"How did you get in?" he asked, his voice husky with emotion.

"I picked the lock. Did you somehow forget that I'm a trained detective, Greg?"

Her eyes burned holes in his brain. The wind whistled again through the room and he moved as if in a trance, pulling his shirt over his head and letting it drop to the side. His hand ran across his belt to the buckle, hesitating briefly before undoing it and pulling at the waistband. He stepped out of his pants slowly, then took a step towards the bed. She regarded him cooly, but her body rose slightly to meet him and he tensed in anticipation, stepping forward once more. The moment seemed to drag on forever as he finally reached the bed and lowered himself, and their lips connected finally with one electrifying surge.

Greg's eyes snapped open and he looked around wildly. His body felt burning to the touch. After a minute of panicked disorientation he regained his bearings and his heartbeat stilled. He flopped back into the sheets and stared wide-eyed at the ceiling for a long time. Grabbing his pillow and burying his face in it, he groaned to himself.

"Nooo...Greg what have you gotten yourself into?"

______

Greg sat on a bench in the locker room, tying his shoelaces with intense concentration.

Ok, you can do this, he thought. It was just a dream. Just. A. Dream.

As she passed by Sara heard his mumblings and stopped just inside the doorway. She knew she was over-reacting. There was no reason to be angry at him — he was being Greg. She regarded him with a mixture of amusement and irritation. Friendly, caring Greg. Then why did she feel so bitter? He had been spending a lot of his time with _her_, but he'd augmented it fine by helping her pick out a present and shop, which she hated to do. Sara decided the reason was Grissom's tacit refusal to be neither as affectionate nor as outgoing as Greg. She focused back on him — he seemed to be wrestling with some personal problem. His expression changed often from one of dreamy foolishness to a grimace of frustration.

She tapped her knuckles on the glass of the door to announce her presence. Greg's head snapped up guiltily and his face smoothed into a beguiling smile.

"Sara Sidle. How goes it?"

"Not bad, Greg Sanders. Have I done something to deserve the last name bomb?" she smiled, sitting down beside him.

"Nah, just...messing," replied Greg cheerfully.

He's good at pretending everything's fine, thought Sara. Like a lightbulb, he can turn it on and off.

"How is the lawsuit going?" she asked carefully, not wanting to set him on the defensive.

He tensed, and a pain settled into his eyes, but he shrugged noncommittally. "About as well as can be expected. Grissom hooked me up with a good lawyer, I think."

"When is the hearing?"

"In a month," he said, eyes flicking back down to his shoelaces and wishing he was anywhere else but having this conversation.

"Do you want us to be there?" she searched his face for signs of cracking, but at least for the time being, he was handling the stress well. Or maybe he was just so distracted by a certain someone...

"Is this why you came down here? They sent you to check up on me?" Greg was slightly affronted, though he gave his friends the benefit of the doubt. Truthfully, he'd been so preoccupied with Viviane that he hadn't had a nightmare in a while. The ones with the staring face that accused with burning eyes. It was something to be thankful for, at least, but now that Sara had brought it up it all came crashing back — the guilt, paranoia, and helplessness that had nearly rendered him immobile the first few months after the beating. He could still feel the accusing stare of Aaron James at the coroner's inquest. A sudden shiver tore through him, though he tried to hide it by shifting in his seat. Wanting to quell the conversation where it stood, he placed a hand on Sara's shoulder, faced her and assumed his most winsome face.

"I'm fine, Sara. There's nothing I can really do about it anyways," he said as carefree as he could.

She seemed somewhat mollified, or at the very least she had decided to relent.

"All right, but if you need any of us at any time —"

"I know, I know who to call. I'll take you up on that sometime," he said, winking as he made his exit quickly.

Later when Greg was alone in the garage; the furthest place he could find away from Sara and Viviane, both of whom he was dutifully avoiding, and also doing the most physical labour he could find, he cracked a wry smile.

I sure know how to make life easier for myself, he thought. I can either think about my crummy deal with a family bent on ruining my life and career, or the intense forbidden feelings I have for my co-worker. Wonder which is worse, he grumbled to himself as a wrench screeched against metal and skittered out of his hands. What a day, he thought as he bent to pick it up.

______

That night the lab's rumour mill churned ferociously. After Greg's blowup at McKeen and Grissom, news of the settlement with the James family raced through the halls like wildfire. Greg could hardly decide which was worse; the pitying looks he received as he walked past complete strangers, or the heartfelt offers of help from friends.

The end of his shift found him contemplating a painless, not to mention numbing, sleep via the corner bar; he settled for coffee on the roof. He spent the time glumly waiting for the sun to rise and analyzing his two problems. Deep in thought, he didn't see the figure that stepped out into the roof and stole up beside him. A soft hand touched his shoulder and he turned to look into soft brown eyes. He searched her face quickly for pity, but it was carefully expressionless. Greg was grateful for that, at least.

They stared off into the crimson light for some time, basking in the early morning peace and letting the comfortable stillness soothe. Finally, he broke the silence.

"You heard?"

She nodded slightly. "They're worried down there. You disappeared."

"You weren't?" He wasn't sure if he wanted her to say yes or no.

"I wouldn't assume."

"No, you wouldn't..."

"You've been avoiding me."

Greg glanced at her in alarm, but she was still staring at the horizon. The sunlight set fire to her hair, glorious reds and golds vibrating in a halo around her head.

"Sort of, yeah. I just couldn't deal with much right now, what with, everything..."

The lie felt sour in his mouth, but he dared not tell the truth. The truth is, I had a dream about you, Viviane, and ever since then I can't get you out of my mind. He stared at the side of her face intently, hoping she believed it and that she would forgive him when the time was right. She made no sign of judgement; her face was calm and contemplative.

"I know what it's like," she said.

"What what's like?" asked Greg.

"In my line of work, there were some inevitabilities I had to deal with. That some scumbags will always get away to hook more kids, or sell guns to thugs on the street. That those guns will come back to me as evidence in the killings of innocent civilians."

"Bet you never killed those civilians yourself though," sighed Greg bitterly.

"I have never killed an innocent civilian, Greg," she said, turning to face him. "And neither have you."

Greg stared at her uncertainly. Her gaze was direct, penetrating, and as he looked into her eyes he found himself nodding. It was true, sort of. The events of that night had begun to blur in his mind; he was starting to believe what they were saying about him, and it wasn't right. But there had been no one else there...and had Demetrius really picked up the rock? Or had he imagined it?

"You didn't imagine it, Greg. You mustn't start doubting yourself."

"Does it ever get any easier?"

"Yes, it really does. And no matter what they say, you'll know what really happened. The people that matter will believe you."

"Like you?" asked Greg with a raised eyebrow.

"Well I wouldn't say that I matter in the grand scheme of things, but I do believe you." She smiled at him, then turned to stare at the rising lump of gold in the sky.

"Yeah," said Greg, satisfied and for once at ease. They watched the sun rise in silence.

"I found your stash of Hawaiian," she said after a while.

"That's ok," he replied, laughing for the first time in days.

"I'll keep it away from them."

"Thanks."


	4. Calamity

**Thanks to my lovely reviewers; I'm glad you feel that way as I tried very hard to avoid all the stuff I hate about OC romances ;P By the way, as you read on you'll probably notice that I take quite a few pot shots at Hodges...And that's cause I don't really like him, especially after what he said about Greg in the bathroom. Hey, I need someone to be the butt of everything. Anyways, Chapter 5 is done, but Chapter 6 is still a bit of a mess, so there might be a delay in my posting, but I should be able to catch up in time to keep the schedule regular. Enjoy!**

One week, nearly a month later, a gun battle erupted on one of the busiest streets in Vegas. The crime scene was enormous, and over a dozen casualties had to be processed. The entire lab was called out to help collect evidence. Hodges, as usual, complained more than his fair share, at least until they arrived and then even he had to be quiet. The scene was sobering; though the bodies had already been removed, the cast-off shell casings and blood pools were enough to attest to what had happened. Greg glanced over at Viviane, who'd been one of the first lab techs to be volunteered due to her considerable crime scene experience. She'd been unusually quiet on the ride over, staring out the window with a resolved but somewhat pained expression. He hadn't wanted to press her for answers — he had enough of his own problems — but however upset Greg was, or even however much he wanted to avoid her, he couldn't allow himself to be any less of a friend. Finally he came up behind her and tapped her shoulder.

"You all right?" he asked, bending down to peer up at her face.

She grinned and swatted at his head.

"Yeah, I'm fine. It's just been a while since I was at a crime scene. The last one was...well you know."

"Do you want to go back? We don't — "

"No, I'm fine, really. This is a huge scene and you guys need all the help you can get. I've faced my demons and conquered them."

Greg nodded and smiled encouragingly before being called away to handle some of the more sensitive evidence.

The day wore on into afternoon, sun beating down on their necks and heads as they painstakingly collected evidence. The clicking of camera shutters was punctuated by sobs of relatives as they were escorted away by officers. Periodically Greg would look up from his work to wave at Viviane. It was because of this that he saw everything.

Viviane stood up to stretch her back and wipe her brow with one hand. Tensing at something noticeable only to her, she hesitated for a split second before lunging down, too late as they all now heard the sound of the shot. Time resumed its pace and the air filled with people's yells.

Greg stood frozen in horror, eyes filled with the sight of her body sprawled on the ground, blood gushing from the entire crown of her head, and suddenly he was there without even knowing having moved. Someone shouted for paramedics. Greg could vaguely feel someone pulling at his arm, and her body was being extricated from his grasp. He stared in shock at the ambulance driving away, bright spots dancing in front of his eyes until finally he recovered his senses, a very agitated Nick shaking him so hard his teeth rattled. Greg grabbed Nick's shoulders, pushing back.

"Ok! I'm fine!" he yelled.

The shaking stopped. Greg had to bend down, hands on knees, to regain his composure as the reality of what had just happened sunk in. With it came nausea and a terrible fear. What if she didn't make it? He had to tell her...

"Greg, cut it out!" yelled Nick. "Pull yourself together; we have to go after the shooter!"

All this had felt like an eternity, yet it had only been a few minutes. Nick's frantic voice penetrated Greg's bewildered mind and he fixated on that idea. Grabbing his camera, he ran after him, knowing nothing except the desperate need to move, to catch someone.

They naturally didn't find anyone, but by the time they'd arrived back at the original crime scene Greg had cleared his head and regained some semblance of sanity, so that when Catherine came to ask them how they'd fared he managed to respond altogether normally. At least he thought he had, until she gently led him away to a squad car. She talked with the officer quietly and Greg somehow understood she meant for him to be taken to the hospital. Where Viviane was. Greg managed to mouth a thank you before the car was moving, taking him away from the scene.

But at the hospital he met Grissom, who was less than cooperative. There was no news and wouldn't be for hours, and Greg was told in no uncertain terms that he'd be fired if he didn't go home and get some rest. Greg did go home — at least until Grissom left, after which he snuck back inside.

The rest of the team arrived at the hospital at their next opportunity, after work and rest. They'd come out in force, in part because they felt guilty about putting Viviane in danger, but mostly they had grown to appreciate her presence at the lab and were genuinely sorry she was hurt. Even Hodges showed up, carrying a sickly looking plant. They kept quiet about it, until finally Nick couldn't resist.

"All right Hodges," he said, crossing his arms in front of the smug lab tech. "What's with the plant?"

"This," he said, holding it up triumphantly, "is a deadly nightshade."

Warrick raised an eyebrow. "You're giving her a poison plant?"

Catherine stifled a laugh. "You do know how to read the ladies."

"She'll understand," said Hodges defensively.

"Hope so. Otherwise you'll have to explain to the nurses why you brought a poisonous plant into a hospital," said Nick, shaking his head.

Meanwhile, he discretely inspected Greg for signs of incipient madness. They'd found him slumped over a chair in the waiting room, looking more dead than alive. Catherine had told them how she'd found it necessary to send him away, and seeing how awful he looked now, Nick had to agree with her.

"Any news?" he asked gently. Greg shook his head, fatigue evident in the lack of energy he showed.

"How long have you been here?" asked Catherine sympathetically.

"Dunno," grunted Greg, stretching out slowly. "I guess about 10 hours. They brought her in at 2, surgery was 6 hours. What time is it?"

They glanced at each other, eyebrows raised. Nick spoke up. "It's 9:30, man. You've been here for 20 hours..."

Greg shrugged, pressing his throbbing head into his hands and trying to rub the sleep and worry out. Grissom said nothing, but he observed Greg carefully. Finally he stepped forward and cleared his throat.

"I found out where she is, do you want to go?" he asked. "The doctor said she can take visitors, but we can't stay long."

Greg abruptly stood up, sleep forgotten. He nodded, trying to hide his worried expression. They smiled understandingly as he strode ahead of them down the hall.

Like I can't tell you're all treating me like a precious flower, worried I'll snap at the drop of a hat, thought Greg. But as he passed a window and caught his reflection, he couldn't help but agree that he looked a little nuts. His hair stood on end from being squashed into the wall and his eyes still had a wild quality, as if they couldn't believe how — and why — he was at the hospital. Grissom pointed them down a more private hall, indicating the last door to the right. He knocked sharply and they were pleased to hear a groggy but clear voice answer.

Greg's pulse quickened and a relieved smile began to tug at the corners of his lips. She was fine, thank goodness. They all stepped through the door and Greg's carefully planned phrases flew out of his mind. There was Viviane, a large gauze bandage wrapped around her head. She was sitting up in bed, the warmth and colour of her body contrasting the pristine linens.

But there! There! A man stood at her side, one arm held protectively around her shoulders and the other holding her hand. He smiled at them politely. Greg's body froze at the sight, face contorting into a snarl of hatred while icicles were already forming in his grieving heart. The flicker of emotions across his face was rapid; first a tightening of the lips in anger, then a look of hopeless longing and defeat. Those standing nearest him could see the devastating play of emotions on his face.

They look perfect together, thought Greg in despair. The man was tall and well-built, but with fine features and a roguish head of blonde hair; the kind of spontaneous messiness that looked good without any kind of effort, and which Greg slavishly tried to imitate but never could get quite right. The dolt, thought Greg, fighting away incipient tears. He doesn't know what he has. That I'll never have. The sudden shock to his system had left him speechless, frozen stiff with raging jealousy and the aftereffects of his night of worrying. She could have told me she has a boyfriend, he thought viciously, wanting nothing more than to turn and run, but forcing himself to stand his ground and look at her, even as his heart shattered inside.

Viviane smiled innocently at him, but he could only return a blank stare. He hadn't realized he was standing foolishly in the middle of the room saying nothing until Grissom pushed past him and extended his hand to the man. All of a sudden the awkward silence was broken and Viviane took her inquisitive gaze off Greg to address Grissom.

"I'm terribly sorry, where are my manners," she apologized, gesturing to the man shaking Grissom's hand. "This is my brother, Glenn."

For the second time that day Greg felt like he'd been drenched in a bucket of ice water. The air left his body in a great rush and his mind reeled in relief, then embarrassment. He hung his head, trying to clear his face, but the damage had already been done.

Her brother...of course. How many times had they talked about her life growing up? God, I can't believe I jumped to conclusions so fast — some CSI I am, he thought bitterly. Face burning, he stepped backwards, trying to draw attention away. Fortunately the team was covering for him and inquiring politely about Viviane's health and her brother. Greg tuned in just in time to hear his reply.

"I work ATF, too. Arms trafficking mostly, but sometimes I task force with DEA," he replied calmly. If he had noticed Greg glaring daggers at him, he showed no sign. Greg had a feeling he was inspecting them, but Glenn's face didn't betray a hint of any conclusions he might have reached, if he was. An awkward silence descended until Greg prodded Hodges forward desperately.

"Don't you have something for her?" he muttered out of the corner of his mouth, still keeping his face down.

Hodges shook himself as if coming out of a trance and assumed his most oily expression — the one usually reserved for Ecklie. With a shudder Greg realized this was probably the expression he used when trying to get something — a date, maybe. Hodges stepped forward, holding out the shiny-leaved plant. Viviane accepted it silently, an expression of mild distaste on her face. She forced an uneasy smile. Glenn, on the other hand, looked distinctly amused as he inspected the plant. Warrick, Nick, and even Sara were looking away, trying desperately to keep straight faces. Grissom, to his credit, managed to stay neutral, though Greg privately thought this must be because he was used to receiving strange gifts from Hodges.

"It's an —"

"Atropa belladonna," said Viviane, managing finally to smile at him.

Man, she's a good actress, thought Greg. I don't think I'd be able to hold a straight face if he pulled something like that with me.

"It's really a beautiful plant," explained Hodges. "And there's no reason to dislike it just because of its reputation."

"As long as you don't try to eat it," murmured Glenn.

"Ah, yes," said Hodges, nervously eyeing her brother.

"Tell her about the sorcerers, Hodges," piped Warrick, ignoring Nick's jab to the ribs.

"Ah, hmm," coughed Hodges, throwing a murderous look his way. "Well I just thought, you know, the association between nightshade and...your...namesake is quite old."

A pained look crossed Viviane's face and she seemed to be about to say something, then caught herself and nodded instead. Greg couldn't trust himself to speak, but he knew exactly what she was thinking — how to tell him that bringing up her namesake's sorcerous past and association with witchy plants wasn't the best way to wish someone well? She obviously chose the least painful route. Smiling brightly, she placed the plant on her nightstand.

"Wow, thanks Hodges. It's great. Now I just need some opium and I can brew an excellent magic salve."

They all concealed giggles, but Hodges didn't seem to notice. At her words he beamed. This seemed to amuse her brother even more and he broke into a grin like a Cheshire cat. Greg hadn't quite gotten over his scare from before so he all but glared at Glenn's hand wrapped casually around Viviane's shoulders.

Nick, the only one who really knew Greg's longing for the woman, and who had seen the shock and anger cross his face when Greg saw what they thought was Viviane's boyfriend, was amazed at the depth of feeling on the young man's face. The worst thing was, he wasn't even trying to hide it.

It's a good thing he doesn't play poker, thought Nick. If they could all see it, then Viviane must, too, and so would her brother. Nick glanced up at the man and noticed he was looking back, studying them again. He'd hardly said anything so far, but Nick could tell that nothing much escaped Glenn's sight. He's so young — he must be really good to be in charge of a whole division, thought Nick, checking out his belt for signs of a gun. There was a telltale bulk at his side, and another in the small of his back. Thankfully when he looked back Greg had managed to hide his expression of hatred and now wore one of artful cheerfulness.

Don't overdo it, G, sighed Nick. God, it's like he's bipolar.

They continued talking casually, but it was clear there was unfinished business in the air.

"Do you have any leads on the shooting?" asked Glenn eventually. It sobered everybody right up.

"Not really, no," said Brass almost apologetically.

"I didn't think there would be," said Glenn bleakly. They looked at him in surprise.

"He usually doesn't leave a trail," murmured Viviane quietly.

"He?" asked Grissom.

"Mind filling us in?" said Brass gruffly.

"I know who did it," said Glenn, eyes flashing in thinly veiled anger. Viviane patted his hand, looking uncharacteristically melancholy. Greg frowned. This was so unlike her...

"Pablo Ruiz. Gunrunning, human trafficking, drugs; you name it, he's into it. He's a major supplier and kingpin to half the gangs in America. I got intel that he was entering the country. Now he's in the city," continued Glenn. "And I'll bet my life that filth started the shootout to lure Viv out of the lab."

The team glanced at each other in shock.

"You can't be serious!" cried Sara, eyebrows raised.

"He's a cold-blooded killer. He'd do anything to get what he wants," said Glenn, eyes so humourless there was no questioning his words.

"We have a bit of a history," supplied Viviane lightly with a wry smile. "Last time we met I almost caught him, but I came out worse for wear in that debacle," she said. "I quit ATF, but I guess he still has some kind of revenge fantasy. That man never could let anything go."

"You know him?" asked Brass.

"I chased him around long enough," said Viviane fiercely.

"Viv worked with DEA on South American cartels, too," said Glenn.

"I could tell you what brand of toothpaste he uses!" she said scornfully, voice rising, "I probably know him better than his own mother. And every time — _every time _— I was near enough to take him down, he'd get tipped off and be back in El Salvador. Back behind his bought and paid for cronies in the government!"

"Easy," murmured Glenn with a placating hand on her shoulder.

"There's no doubt in my mind that he killed those people to get me out in the open," she said, eyes flashing as she ignored Glenn's restraining hand. "Create a big enough scene and you'd have to call everyone out to help."

"That's just heinous," said Catherine, shaking her head.

"You've never met _Pablo_," she spat as she sunk back in the pillows. Greg had never seen her this ferocious; her eyes were stormy, though her face showed a great weariness.

Finally she seemed to calm down. Greg could see the tell-tale signs of her locks springing into place — the setting of her lips, the smoothing of the face — and it was done. She'd restored her emotional restraint. Greg sighed a little inside, wishing they could be alone so he could try to help her...or at the very least apologize for his ridiculous behaviour.

"Well, uh, thanks," said Brass, frowning slightly. "We'll follow up on that."

Eventually they had to leave; ushered out firmly by a nurse ("She needs her rest, it's been a very long day!") and found themselves by the parking lot, where they spoke in hushed tones what they'd found out. Because Greg had been zoned out while she was explaining the prognosis, he asked them to repeat it.

"She'll be out for a few weeks, but other than that she's fine. The doctor told her it was lucky she heard the shot before it went off; since she began to duck it only grazed the top of her head."

______

"How are you doing?" asked Glenn, pushing back a strand of hair from her shoulder.

"Fine, how about you?" Viviane smiled back cheekily.

"Don't like seeing you like this."

"If I had a mirror I'd say the same."

Glenn smiled indulgently and mimed a smack to the face, then became serious.

"That boy...he's fallen hard for you."

Viviane's expression remained amused, though she lowered her lashes slightly. "I know," she said.

"Do you think you could return it? Because if you can't you should let him down easy before –"

"I think I could," came her abrupt reply. Her face was turned down to hide her expression. Glenn smiled, knowing what she was too proud to say out loud.

He nudged her cheek. "If I didn't know better, Viv, I'd think you've gone soft. I've never known you to indulge in someone who didn't pack heat."

She looked up smugly. "There's a lot you don't know about me. Besides, there's intellectual heat. And...I can pack enough heat for the both of us."

Glenn laughed with her, then firmly told her it was time for rest. Unwilling to admit it but definitely needing some, she allowed him to order her around like a big brother and lay back in bed. Glenn patted her gently and left the room as she drifted off into sleep.


	5. Decisions

**I don't know if any of these translations are correct, so don't kill me. I tried my best. This is probably my favourite chapter, so enjoy!**

The lab was mostly back to normal the next week, though the notable absence of Viviane put a damper on the days. Surprisingly, Greg had volunteered to fill in for her. Officially he was helping the lab out, but really he just wanted to be close to her. The DNA room was filled with her things. Her presence. He found himself turning on her music and singing a few off-key notes. At the end of shift, he grabbed the player and headed to the hospital.

Greg knocked softly on the door to Viviane's room and upon hearing a muffled reply he carefully pushed it open. Her brother sat in a chair pulled up close beside the bed. Viviane looked up from their conversation with a smile and beckoned to Greg.

"I can come back later if you two are busy," he said. He still felt irrational pangs of jealousy at seeing Viviane so familiar with the handsome man, even if he was her brother.

"Don't be silly, Greg. He was just leaving to get something to eat," she said. Glenn stood up and made his way to the door. A smile played around his lips and he turned back just before leaving the room.

"You two have fun," he said, nodding to Greg.

Viviane made an indelicate gesture in his direction, but he only laughed at her as he closed the door behind him.

"What was that about?" asked Greg suspiciously. Had they been talking about him? He didn't like the way Glenn looked through him, as if he could read Greg's every thought and feeling with just a glance. It made him feel oddly vulnerable, and though Viviane had the same power, she was much more discrete about it.

"Oh, he just thinks he's a comedian," she shrugged. "So, how's the lab? Anything interesting happen?"

"You've only been gone a couple days," he laughed, then sobered. Looking into her eyes he tried to really convey his emotions. "I...I'm glad you're all right."

"Thank you, Greg." She took his admission, or lack thereof, with simple gratitude. Greg was thankful for her uncomplicated nature and was infused with courage, so that for a second he almost confessed his feelings. He stopped himself with difficulty, instead quickly reaching into his coat pocket, pulling out her music player and holding it out.

"Here, I...brought you some of your favourites. Thought you might be getting bored here. It might make it feel a little more like home," he said. Whatever reaction he'd been hoping for, he wasn't expecting the pained look that crossed her face briefly before melting into a calm smile.

Filled with alarm, he pulled back. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."

Viviane shook her head quickly and grabbed his hand, stopping him from pulling away.

"No, thank you! I didn't mean to make you think anything. It's so thoughtful of you, and actually I was missing it." She pulled back and held the player in her lap. Greg's heart fluttered from the brief feeling of her hands on his.

"So what's wrong?" he asked.

"Since the bullet grazed my temporal lobe, I'm at high risk of seizures," she said matter-of-factly. Greg stared. "I have to be careful to regulate my emotions and...definitely no singing." She looked down at the player in her hands wistfully. Greg's heart contracted painfully; more than anything he wanted to make it all better for her. He mimicked her earlier gesture and placed his hands over hers, gazing intently into her face.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up any pain. How long can't you...?"

"Six months," she said, looking up at him resignedly.

"That's...a long time," he said in surprise.

"Yes, it is," she said tightly.

"I didn't mean it like that...I mean, it's not that long. It'll go by so fast..." he trailed off in defeat.

Viviane broke out into a smile. "You should work on your backpedalling."

"Yeah, I should," he smiled sheepishly. "You'll help me?"

"Sure."

"So what's on TV?"

______

True to his word, Greg tried every trick in the book to distract Viviane from her misfortune. Nearly every day he entertained her in the hospital, often bringing other lab techs and CSIs. One Wednesday Greg ran down the hospital halls, hurriedly checking his watch and avoiding ruffled nurses as they yelled at him to slow down.

He reached Viviane's room just in time, throwing himself through the door and tugging a gigantic wad of balloons after him through the doorway.

"Tadaah!" he exclaimed, brandishing the balloons triumphantly.

Viviane looked over at him with an amused grin. "What's this for?"

"You would not believe how hard it is to find a balloon in this city! It's like every 5 year old is having a party today," he said, ignoring her question and tying the balloons to her side table and flashing her a smile. "Thankfully this 5 year old won't have to go without."

Viviane smiled back as she adjusted herself in the bed. "Just who exactly is supposed to be the 5 year old in this scenario?"

"I'll let you decide that," he said, grabbing the remote and settling into his usual chair beside her bed. "I thought I wasn't going to make it. There's this hilarious new show everyone's been talking about called CSI: New York. I've been dying to watch it!"

"Oh?" she asked.

"Yeah it's so unrealistic! They get DNA results in, like, two hours!"

They shared a laugh and settled into their nightly ritual before Greg had to go to work.

______

At work that night, with Greg still manning the DNA lab in Viviane's absence, he was touched at how many people stopped by to inquire about Viviane's health. It appeared that while juggling tests and Greg's near-constant presence, she somehow found the time to be a sounding-board for the lab techs' problems and grievances.

How does she find the time, wondered Greg as he contemplated the waiting stack of samples. Sighing, he pressed on, looking forward to greeting Viviane on the outside world that morning. Although her brother was officially helping, Greg had volunteered to be there when she was released. He stopped short of offering to let her stay at his apartment while she recovered, but only barely. He'd hoped his obsession would have eased by now, but her injury had only made it intensify, and it was all he could do not to glare her brother down every time he was fortunate enough to embrace her in a way Greg could never allow himself.

"Hey there, milady," called Greg when he saw Viviane standing outside the hospital doors, a bandage still around her head but otherwise looking as breathtaking as ever. She turned around slowly at his voice and flashed him a smile, nearly knocking him off his feet.

I gotta learn to protect myself from that, thought Greg wryly. But damn, she's just so...

He rushed over to her, firmly shoving the dangerous thoughts to the back of his mind.

"Hi Greg," she smiled.

"What are you doing out here?"

"Waiting for Glenn to bring the car around. I was going stir crazy in there so they let me out early."

"I know what you mean. When I was there after the..." Greg swallowed the lump in his throat, "the James thing, it was all I could do not to try sneaking out."

Viviane nodded. Just then, two paramedics came running out of the hospital, brushing past her so quickly she stumbled back. Instinctively Greg reached out as she turned and she fell into him, arms coming up to break her fall and landing on his chest. Her hands clenched the fabric of his shirt and Greg circled his arms protectively around her shoulders. A shiver ran down his spine at the touch that felt so right, and he didn't want to let go. He brought her closer to his body and she didn't push away — lost in impulse, he closed his eyes and rested his cheek against the side of her head, inhaling the spicy scent of her hair. He could tell her now, and everything would be all right, because it felt so good to have her in his arms.

The sound of an engine turning off brought him crashing back to his senses and his head snapped up, eyes meeting Glenn's gaze as he stood at the driver side door. Glenn smiled pleasantly at him as if nothing had happened, but Greg hurriedly stepped away from Viviane, still careful not to jar her or knock her over again. He jammed his hands into his jeans pockets, face flaming and heart racing furiously.

It's fine, he thought, inner voice panicky. There's nothing wrong with hugging an injured co-worker. And that's all she is. A co-worker. Friend. Because I can't...I don't know what I'd do if we couldn't be friends and it would be oh-so-awkward...

Greg realized he hadn't said anything yet, and now both Viviane and Glenn were looking at him.

"I..um...I mean, she was going to fall so I caught her. Some paramedics were running way too fast — I mean this is a hospital, right? People should be more careful. Maybe I should talk to someone about that." He turned as if to go into the hospital.

"Are you all right?" Glenn asked Viviane, putting a steady hand on her elbow.

"Yes, I'm fine, really. Ordinarily I wouldn't have fallen but I'm trying not to make any sudden movements." She absently brushed at the bandage around her head. "Thankfully Greg caught me." She smiled at him and he noticed the rosy flush of her cheeks and the way her eyes sparkled at him. His breath caught painfully in his throat.

"Greg's a good man," said Glenn, smiling knowingly at Viviane. She nudged him sharply in the ribs. Ignoring her, Glenn addressed Greg directly.

"Are you tired or do you have time to go to breakfast with us? I thought Viv might like something more filling than hospital food."

"Uh...sure," Greg nodded.

"Let's go, then," said Glenn, beginning to lead Viviane by the elbow to the black sedan at the curb.

Viviane shook his hand away impatiently. "I'm not an invalid, thank you!"

Glenn rolled his eyes playfully and glanced back at Greg. "She was impossible as a teenager, too."

Greg smiled back awkwardly, glad he hadn't been the one to help her like he'd wanted.

"Don't make me put you in the back seat like a delinquent," admonished Glenn, darting around her to open the door and resting his crossed arms on the frame. He grinned impudently, knowing full well she hated having doors opened for her.

"You couldn't have found a car that doesn't scream 'Fed'"? she threw back in what was obviously a practiced routine between them.

"It was all they had. Besides, it'll help us get parking."

Viviane frowned at him in exasperation, then laughed helplessly and leaned forward to kiss him on the forehead. Greg sighed a little inside, wishing he were on the receiving end of those lips.

"You coming, Greg?" she turned to him.

"Yeah," he nodded, climbing into the back seat.

"All right, Viv, where to?" asked Glenn when he was settled behind the wheel.

"Oh! I've been meaning to go to this place with you, Greg!" She turned back and flashed him a grin. "I don't know if you've ever been there or if you ever miss it, but I found a place that has authentic Norwegian food!"

"No way!" exclaimed Greg, grinning back. Besides going home for the holidays, he couldn't remember the last time he'd had any of his favourites, and even then only when his grandparents came too.

"Good," said Glenn. "I haven't had good Pinnekjøtt in forever." He shot Viviane a look. "No thanks to you. You know you could come over and make me some."

"Oh, boo hoo. I make you homemade Zimtsterne every Christmas, and anyways you're not even Norwegian!"

"Technicality. I still like it."

"How do you two know so much about Norwegian food?" asked Greg curiously.

"I taught wilderness survival training in the mountains for a few years in Norway, and Glenn lived there for six. Turn right here."

"We could serve as the United Nations, just the two of us," joked Glenn.

"Yeah you both have Swedish and Finnish blood, right?" asked Greg.

"Yes, but Glenn was born in Switzerland, and I was born in Canada," she elaborated. "Our parents were quite the travellers. With all of our passports, we'd make pretty good spies, no?" Viviane laughed.

"Wow," said Greg wistfully. "I've never even been out of the country."

"Oh, Greg, you would love Europe." She had turned back to look at him again, eyes shining and hand inching forward subconsciously to rest on his knee. Greg stared at her lips; they were parted in a breathless smile.

"I'm sure...I would," he managed a strangled reply. She turned back to give more directions, pulling away and breaking the contact, but Greg felt as if his skin was burning in that one spot. He closed his eyes and sighed, willing his pulse to slow.

Pull yourself together, man. You can't act like this much of an idiot; they'll think you're braindead. Think of Grissom covered in jello. No, Hodges covered in jello. His mental image brought him out of it with a shiver. Opening his eyes, he found Glenn looking at him through the rearview mirror. He had on that same amused smile. Greg looked away quickly.

"So why don't you have a boyfriend yet, Viv? There must be lots of great guys at that lab of yours," said Glenn, turning back to the road.

Greg glanced sharply at him, but he seemed not to notice.

"I'm waiting for the right person," said Viviane, shooting Glenn a venomous look. Shut up, she mouthed. Glenn only smirked.

"What about that Nick character? He seemed your type."

"Only shows you know nothing about me! He's more your type," she shot back, punching him in the shoulder. "Why haven't you found someone? There's lots of girls at ATF who'll be more than happy to play with your guns. Some of them don't even look like troglodytes."

"I'm waiting for the right one," replied Glenn dismissively.

Relieved the heat was off him, Greg sat back in his seat and pondered Viviane's words. Nick wasn't her type...he'd already guessed that. Maybe he should just tell her. It couldn't be any worse than now, could it? And why did Glenn keep smiling at him like that? Did he know? Had he told her? He saw me holding her like that...what if he disapproves? Images of another beating flashed before his eyes — the scars were still too fresh and he found himself fighting back tears.

No! he thought desperately. You're spiraling, Greg. I'm sure it's nothing, and anyways you won't do anything. She's too special to mess around with. Besides if Hodges ever found out he'd definitely rat me out to Ecklie, and he'll move her to days.

"We're here," said Glenn as he parked the car.

Greg looked up to see a pleasant restaurant nestled between a fruit market and a bakery. The sight of familiar lettering brought a warm feeling to his heart and he was actually excited to tell his mother that there was a place like this in Vegas.

"My Nana used to make gravlaks every Christmas when she'd come over," he grinned as they entered the restaurant.

Viviane smiled happily. "I thought you'd like it. There's nothing like the taste and sounds of home to speed recovery," she said, indicating a booth near the back of the restaurant. "Actually— I know a good recipe for gravlaks. I could make you some if you're ever feeling homesick."

Greg grinned excitedly at her. "I'd love that. I'd love anything you made." He caught Glenn staring at him and hurried to their seats. When Glenn and Viviane sat down together on one side of the booth, Greg excused himself and stepped into the bathroom. Staring at himself in the mirror, he tried to calm down, berating himself silently for letting the situation get this far.

Now you've done it, Greg. Not only do they think you've lost your mind, you can't stop thinking about a — the girl of your dreams — co-worker. What am I going to do?

Greg rested his forehead against the cool glass.

She's just a girl. A co-worker. A co-worker. Like Hodges. God, if I keep using Hodges as a repellant I might accidentally become attracted to him. Shuddering at the thought, he splashed some cold water on his face and walked out.

______

When Greg left the table Viviane glared at Glenn and punched him forcefully in the arm.

"Will you cut it out? The poor guy has enough to worry about without you making him squirm every which way."

"He'll be fine," said Glenn, flicking her nose teasingly. "I know what I'm doing. Besides, I want to see how serious he is."

"You leave it alone, Glenn. I've never needed you to babysit my love life for me. I like him too much for you to scare him away."

"You what?" he asked softly.

"I like him, ok?"

"And was that so hard to say?" he raised his eyebrows at her. "Sometimes you take the tough girl act too far, Viv. If you really want to make it work with him, you'll have to let him in a little."

"I know, Glenn," she sighed, resting her head on his shoulder. "Everything in its time."

"Smi mens jernet er varmt."

Viviane laughed helplessly. "What is it with you today?"

"Oh, this place just brings back memories," smiled Glenn, picking up a menu and scanning it.

Greg came from behind them and sat down across the table. "Whose iron is hot?" he asked, picking up another menu.

"Glenn's waxing philosophical. Sometimes you just have to shake him and wind him up again."

"Hey, respect your elders," said Glenn from behind his menu.

"Ahah," laughed Viviane. "Alder er ikkje å skryte av; ein får den for ingeting!"

"I left that one open for you," muttered Glenn good-naturedly.

"Sure," said Viviane, winking at Greg, who laughed with her.

"Did I hear you speaking Norwegian?" asked the waitress when she approached their table. "It's been so long since I've heard the mother tongue. My parents would so love to speak with you."

While Glenn conversed with the kindly older couple in Norwegian, Viviane leaned across the table to speak quietly with Greg.

"I'm sorry if we're being rude. I'm not sure how much Norwegian you still remember."

"That's ok, really. I still understand from when Papa Olaf taught me. Probably wouldn't be able to speak much, though."

"Okay," smiled Viviane. "Anyways, I know my brother and we can stop all this foolishness once he's told us what he came here to say."

She turned to the waitress. "What can you recommend for a couple of homesick Nordmenn?"

The waitress smiled cheerfully. "My mamma makes the best lutefisk, if you're really homesick."

Vivianne made a face. "Maybe a little strong for someone who just got out of the hospital, no?

Greg grinned. "I'll take the stekte pølser; maybe you could have some brunost with bread?"

Viviane nodded. "That would be really great; you can't find Gudbrandsdalsost anywhere outside of Scandinavia. Believe me, I've looked. I'm amazed you even have it!"

"Yes, my mamma imports it specially. It's her favourite."

"All right, and a cup of coffee, please. My brother will have the lapskaus."

The waitress curtsied prettily and left.

They ate quietly for a while, touching on meaningless topics. Greg could see that Viviane was becoming increasingly impatient until she finally picked up her cup and turned to Glenn.

"All right, Glenn. What's up?"

He chewed thoughtfully before looking at Greg, who tensed apprehensively.

"I invited you here for a reason, Greg. You can deliver information to your boss better than I, and anyways I'd like your input on this decision."

"Me?" asked Greg, eyebrows raised in surprise. "I'm sure Grissom would be more appropriate —"

"Bureaucracy is tedious, at best," said Glenn, waving his hand dismissively and shaking his head. He paused and seemed to be choosing his words carefully. "I called in a favour. I know where that bastard is hiding."

Greg glanced at Viviane. Her face was stony.

"I could call in another favour and have the problem taken care of..." Glenn left the ending suggestive and regarded Viviane cooly.

Greg stared at him, unsure whether he was serious, but he obviously was, and Viviane seemed to be considering it.

"You mean have him killed?" blurted Greg.

Glenn turned to look at him. "There is no evidence of his actions, he's made sure of that. He'll be out of jail in about the time it takes to make a phone call."

"But you can't just..."

"That man supplies drugs to half the gangs in the US, and by technicalities and murdering witnesses he's managed to avoid jail time. The last time he escaped by killing and injuring four ATF agents, including Viviane, who has spent five years hunting him down only to be denied extradition. And now he's snuck back into the goddamn country and attempted to murder her to get revenge! He will not stop until she's dead and there's _nothing_ I won't do to stop that," said Glenn, punctuating his words by slamming a fist into the table.

"A bullet will save a lot of lives," he said coldly.

Greg was struggling with Glenn's matter-of-fact view of the situation when a voice interrupted.

"No."

They both looked to Viviane who had lifted her head and spoken. Her eyes were steely.

"I want him to confess to the massacre here."

Glenn sighed in resignation.

"Bring him in. I'll talk to him," she said once more.

"Are you sure..."

She nodded. "I want him in jail for the rest of his life. And then I want you to find the rest of his network and bring them down."

"Are you sure you'll be able to get it from him?" asked Glenn, frowning.

"I will."

"And if not, are you prepared —"

"I will, Glenn," she said firmly.

"So be it," he said, leaning back in his seat. "I'll bring him in tomorrow. And Viviane, don't let him get to you. You're not allowed to get emotional."

"I won't," she said firmly, taking a calm sip of her coffee.

Greg glanced apprehensively at Glenn, who continued eating as if nothing had happened and whose face was inscrutable.

"I'll tell Grissom and Brass...They can get an interrogation room ready for you," said Greg nervously.

Viviane smiled at him, clearing some tension from the air. "Thank you, Greg. How are your sausages?"

"Almost as good as mom's," he said, smiling tentatively.

Glenn leaned back and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "I think I'll stay with you for a while, Viv. He might make another attempt."

"Again with that?" she said in exasperation.

"Yes. You know how dangerous that bastard is. You will stay under my protection." His voice was authoritative, more like a father than a brother, and Viviane only challenged his gaze for a few moments before dropping her eyes.

"Fine," she said.

"Good. I wouldn't have left you alone with that injury anyways; the risk of seizures is too high. It's a good thing your reflexes are still good, or he would've lopped off your entire head. Say what you will about him, he's a decent sniper."

Viviane scoffed. "He had wind to help him. I could make that shot from farther away. So could you, and you know it."

Glenn shrugged. "I don't think drug lords get much time to practice. You gave him a pretty good headache, riding his ass from city to city all those years."

Viviane shrugged and took a sip of coffee.

Greg stared down at his plate, feeling incredibly uncomfortable at the frank talk of firearms and murder. He despaired at the divide between him and Viviane. This was her world, and he could see no place for him in it. Could she ever be with someone as unwilling to be around guns as he? Lab or not, she was first and foremost a detective, and from what he'd gathered she had a colourful history — more at home strapping on a gun and leading arrests than collecting evidence. I'd be too boring for her, he thought glumly. She needs someone like..like Glenn. Letting out a subconscious sigh, he put his fork down and pushed his plate away.

"I think we're done here," agreed Glenn. He stood up and tossed a few bills onto the table. Greg began to pull his wallet out, but Glenn shook his head. "Don't worry about it. Good Norwegian food is hard enough to find around here; it's my treat."

Greg nodded thanks. He was starting to get a little uneasy around this grim-faced man for whom killing was commonplace. Images of the beating again flashed through his mind. As if sensing his thoughts, Viviane came up beside him and linked an arm with his, leaning slightly into his shoulder to speak into his ear.

"Don't mind Glenn. He's just being overprotective. When our parents died he had to raise me all by himself. He hates it when one of those guys gets away."

Greg glanced back at him apprehensively.

"He takes his job very seriously," she continued, "but he knows his boundaries. And he likes you." She smiled at him.

"Really?" he said doubtfully.

"Oh yes, I know Glenn. He really likes you."

Greg was painfully aware of how close she was, and she seemed to sense his discomfort because she pulled away quickly, starting towards the door by herself.

Goddamnit, Greg. What the hell is wrong with you? Not only are you embarrassing yourself, you're being a bad friend, too. He watched her retreating back unhappily and grimaced, following her out the door.

______

"Smi mens jernet er varmt" = Strike while the iron is hot.

"Alder er ikkje å skryte av; ein får den for ingeting" = Age is nothing to boast of; you get it for free.

Zimtsterne — Christmas cinnamon cookies/Switzerland

Pinnekjøtt — dish of lamb or mutton(holidays)/Norway

Gravlaks — raw salmon cured in salt, sugar, and dill/Scandinavia

Lutefisk — dried/salted whitefish and lye soda/Scandinavia

Stekte pølser — fried sausages/Norway

Gudbrandsdalsost/brunost — brown whey cheese/Scandinavia

Lapskaus — meat stew/Norway


	6. Release

**Sorry about the delay. Sick and school collaborating to annoy me, so updates will have to be once a week again. I somehow lost a piece of paper that a part of the next chapter was written on, too, so I'm going to have to rewrite it.**

The next evening the lab was bristling in anticipation. Ordinarily the presence of feds would be met with resentment, but since the county hadn't been able to find any conclusive evidence in the very publicized street shooting, and Pablo Ruiz had almost succeeded in killing one of their own, they were just glad that he was finally captured. The rumour mill was already churning since nobody was told how exactly the man had been found. "Mysterious contacts" was about all they — Hodges, mostly — had been able to find out.

Greg stood with Grissom and Ecklie on either side, uncomfortably glancing around. People knew he had brought the news to Grissom, and he could tell they were wondering what his role was. He wanted to tell them he was just the messenger, but he stayed quiet. Mostly everyone was curious as to what this infamous man would look like. It had been hard to convince Grissom and Brass to let Viviane do the interrogation alone, but Glenn had casually remarked that she was still a former ATF Special Agent and he could reinstate her if he needed to, and that was that. He was quite polite about it, but just as obviously would not take no for an answer, so they let it go.

There was a commotion at the elevator and a cluster of people separated, revealing a short man with scraggly black hair and an unkept beard glowering at everyone, arms restrained behind his back. Glenn stood close behind him, one hand holding his arms tightly and another clamped firmly on his shoulder. Scowling, he allowed Glenn to push him forward to the open interrogation room past staring lab techs and officers. Brass had offered an escort for the prisoner, but Glenn waved him off. The set of his shoulders and his grim face showed Greg that he rarely needed help as he pushed the man through the door.

Greg glanced at Viviane in concern. He wasn't used to lab techs being in charge like this, and he had to keep reminding himself who she'd been previously. This was probably an everyday event for her. He was still trying to get used to seeing the suspects face to face, let alone trying to get answers from them.

She caught his gaze and smiled lightly. She was wearing a thin wool hat that slouched over her hair casually — but he knew it was probably hiding the bandage from yesterday. It was still so soon after the shooting, and he wasn't sure she was up to the task. Still he showed no sign of his misgivings and responded only with an encouraging lift of his eyebrows.

The door to the interrogation room opened and Glenn stepped out.

"He's all ready. Handcuffed to the table, so he can't do anything," said Glenn to Viviane. "We'll be in there." He jerked his head to the adjoining observation room. She nodded and straightened, her face smoothing into a carefully neutral mask. She entered the room.

Nick glanced at Glenn doubtfully. "I hope you know what you're doing. She just got out of the hospital."

Glenn led the way to the observation room, speaking over his shoulder. "Viv can handle herself."

I hope you're right, thought Greg. If anything happens to her, I'll kill you. The last thought came unbidden to his mind and he quickly suppressed it, shocked that he could even think it. He and the others walked into the observation room just in time to see Viviane slide into one of the hard metal chairs at the table. Pablo Ruiz was standing, back to the two-way mirror and hands shackled in front of him to a metal hook soldered to the table.

"Sit down," said Viviane cooly.

The man made no move.

Viviane shifted in her chair, leaning forward slowly and staring at him through lidded eyes.

"Siéntate, cabrón," she snapped, voice tinged with contempt.

He stiffened slightly and twitched as if he was going to lunge forward, but after a long minute he slid down into the chair and leaned forward to match her stance.

"Te matare a ti y a todos los que conoces, maldita puta." The man's voice was a whisper, but chilling nonetheless. Viviane said nothing, but her eyes betrayed a flicker of emotion.

Greg risked a glance at Glenn, but he was impassive as ever. Nick shook his head, however, a look of intense disgust filling his face.

"What is it? What did he say?" asked Greg uneasily.

"As close as I can make out," said Nick. "He said 'I'll kill you and everyone you know.'"

Brass let out a low whistle. "Not a pleasant cupcake, this one," he grunted.

Greg tingled with anticipation. Even though the man was shackled to the table, Greg was apprehensive.

"If you so much as touch anyone I know, I'll hunt you down and slit you open," hissed Viviane. She was inches from his face, but the silence was so profound everyone could hear her words. "I'll wrap your entrails around your neck and watch as you choke yourself to death."

Her voice was low and measured; just as chilling as his, and her eyes didn't waver. Greg shuddered at the implication in her tone.

The man looked away first. Greg could tell from the minute shift of his head to the side, and the even more infinitesimal shine of triumph in her eyes. She slowly settled back in her chair; she had the power now and she knew it.

"What do you want, woman?"

"I want everything. I know you ordered the shootout on Fremont Street to get me out of the lab. Confess and I'll save you from the death penalty."

"You are crazy, puta," he scoffed, some of his previous cockiness coming back. "You will never be able to prove anything. I'll never tell you anything."

Viviane cocked her head to the side and stared at the man for a few seconds, expression inscrutable, then shifted her chair to the side. She swung her legs up and crossed them on the corner of the table; leaning back on two legs of the chair she casually flipped through a file folder. Stopping eventually and picking up a photo, she tossed it onto the table in front of the man. From his vantage point Greg could see that it was a snapshot taken about twenty years prior; it showed a younger but still recognizable Pablo Ruiz in army fatigues, one arm casually wrapped around the shoulders of another young man. Both were grinning widely and holding up automatic rifles for the camera.

Viviane raised her eyebrow questioningly.

"What's the matter? Don't recognize your friend there?" She flipped another photograph onto the table. It was a surveillance photo, taken from much farther away and showing the same two men, older now. They were smoking and huddled together speaking.

"Juan-Carlos Vargas. You and he were tight when he worked for the Cali Cartel. Now he's moved up in the world. Taking you with him. But I'm sure he'll be quick to rethink his loyalties when I start sniffing around in Bogotá. Your ex-associates will be more than interested to know what you've been telling us."

"I'm not tell—"

"See, I wasn't referring to the chair. I think the phrase is...'Better a live prisoner than a dead snitch'? What's your head worth to you, cabrón?" She emphasized the last syllable, letting it roll off her tongue as she purposefully goaded him on.

Suddenly the man leaped up with a roar, sending his chair screeching back.

Greg cried out and stepped towards the door, but an iron grip on his arm jerked him back. Glenn shook his head at him, motioning to the room with a jerk of his head.

"Let her handle it, Greg."

Viviane didn't flinch as the enraged man surged up. He was stopped by his shackles just inches from her face, snarling in fury.

She leaned forward more, now mere centimetres from his face, going in for the kill with a feral smile on her face.

"'Cause it doesn't matter whether you say anything or not, and you know it. I'll start the rumours, and they'll be pure fiction — best sellers. But your friends down there will carve you up better than I ever could, just to cut their losses. You're done. Finished. They'll be pulling you out of a ditch by tomorrow morning."

She was relentless, like a panther stalking its prey. Her voice bored into the air; dry and dispassionate. Greg even felt a twinge of pity for the scruffy man.

"By the end of the day, every drug lord from Bogotá to Buenos Aires will have a price on your head. Tomorrow some hothead under you will have taken over your whole operation — Victor's been eyeing your spot for a while now, hasn't he?"

They stared each other down for a long time, tension mounting, but again he was the first to relent. She retreated, a bored look coming over her face as she looked away and rested easily in her chair.

"But you're right, of course," she shrugged, looking at him askance. "We have nothing to hold you. Nothing to warrant extradition."

Viviane picked up a pen and twisted it through her fingers idly. She began tapping the table with it methodically. Greg knew the technique. It was meant to break the flow of a suspect's thoughts. Long minutes passed, the tapping increasingly taking over the room, until she abruptly swung her legs down from the table and stood up.

"Make up your mind fast, because the offer's gone as soon as I step out that door. Full confession to the shooting on Fremont Street. Your network — everything."

She walked to the door, and it felt like everyone in the observation room was holding their breath. Only Glenn seemed calm, though whether that was because he never worried or because he never showed it, Greg couldn't tell. Viviane grabbed the handle and wrenched the door open; she was half out when a low growl stopped her.

"Wait."

Viviane stopped, but didn't look back. She beckoned to one of the detectives waiting outside, then quickly slipped out the door, a grim look on her face.

They found her leaning against the wall in the hallway, head bowered and hands clasped behind her back.

"Are you all right, Viv?" asked Nick first.

She looked up with a tight smile and straightened, nodding, but Greg could tell that something was still troubling her. He glanced at Glenn, who as usual didn't give anything away. Greg wondered how anyone could ever live with someone so hard to read.

"Why don't you take Viv to get a drink, Greg?" The voice interrupted Greg's thoughts and he looked up questioningly.

"Huh?"

Glenn jerked his head in the direction of the break room and Greg took the hint. He smiled tentatively at Viviane and motioned down the hall. She glared at them both flatly, rolling her eyes, but allowed Greg to lead her away.

______

Inside the break room — for once empty — she sat down wearily on the couch and rubbed her eyes. Greg wasn't sure what to do, so he began rummaging in the fridge for her customary snack.

"I messed up, Greg."

He pulled his head out of the fridge and let it close on its own, carrying a jar of pickles to the couch with him. Sitting down beside her, he offered the jar. She looked at it sorrowfully before taking it and fishing one out.

"How did you mess up?" he asked. "I thought you did a great job."

"This isn't just some thug, Greg. He's a dangerous bastard. I'm afraid I've endangered the entire lab."

Greg shook his head firmly. "We can take care of ourselves. It'll be fine."

"I also opened a big can of worms," she looked down at the pickle she held. "I forgot how much I liked it..."

Greg could guess what she was thinking. "You want to go back into the field?"

"No. I just..." she closed her eyes and rested her head on the back of the couch. "No. But it felt good."

"You know what I think?" Greg leaned forward.

Viviane opened her eyes and looked at him, lights reflecting and shattering into a million fragments in her eyes. "What's that?"

Greg hesitated for an agonizing moment. He could tell her right now. Just say it, damn it. But all of a sudden the possible repercussions crashed down around his ears and he lost his nerve. I can't do this to her, not right now, he thought in despair. She's got too much on her mind.

"You've had a lot to process these past couple days. I think you should get some rest," he said finally, wincing at his lame words.

Nobody but Greg, who had memorized her every facial expression could have ever caught the miniscule falling of her face at his words. She'd obviously been expecting him to say something else, but what? A smile touched her lips and she looked away, the fleeting emotion having passed as quickly as it appeared.

"Maybe you're right."

Greg nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. Why can't I just...It was never this hard with Sara. No one's ever had this effect on me. Maybe I am Superman...and she's my literal cryptonite.

______

When Viviane had left the lab with Glenn, ready to take her time off, the team gathered in the break room. Nick and Warrick drank coffee on the couch.

"That was pretty intense. I thought he was gonna cry for a minute," said Nick.

Warrick nodded. "Or break her neck. Good thing he was cuffed to the table."

"And she didn't even break a sweat," added Catherine, shaking her head and sipping from her mug.

"She's had plenty of practice. Her file is thorough," said Grissom.

Sara glanced over at Greg, who'd remained conspicuously silent. "You all right, Greg?" she asked.

He looked up, a troubled expression on his face.

"I'm fine. Just excitement," he said. "Hey Gris can I go home? I'm not feeling so good."

Grissom frowned slightly, but at Sara's insistent look he shrugged his shoulders. "Sure, why not. It's a slow weekday; all the cases and DNA are done and it's just backlog now."

Greg thanked him and jumped out of his chair, hurrying out the door.

"What's with him?" asked Warrick.

Sara and Nick stared after him, both having their suspicions.

______

Greg woke from a fitful sleep and flipped onto his back to stare at the ceiling. He thought a good rest would have cleared his head, but all it did was give his subconscious mind free reign on his dreams. This one had been different than the first, and if possible, even hotter. He could still remember her lips...the taste of her mouth. The heat between them was electrifying; in the dream he had actually gasped.

He checked his bedside clock; 2:30. It was prime time; the lab would be in full swing now. Maybe he should go back. After all, Viviane was off for the next two weeks. His dreams were obviously not a refuge, and his apartment was boring. And God, he just couldn't stop thinking of her! Everything she did, every smile and movement made him want to grab her and never let go. And when she looked at him, with those eyes, his heart melted inside.

At least at work I'll have something to keep me busy, he sighed. Looking around his brightly decorated room with band posters and his most memorable achievements pinned on the walls, he thought how much she would appreciate it. And suddenly his apartment seemed empty without her, and he got out of bed in disgust.

______

It was a slow night when he got back, just as Grissom had said. Greg was slogging through the backlog when he spotted Nick coming down the hall, who raised a hand in greeting and entered the room.

"Missing the field yet?" he joked.

Greg rolled his eyes good-humoredly. "Yes! Maybe I can get Viviane to come back early."

"Speaking of," said Nick, a serious expression coming over his face. "Are you ok? I meant what I said before. I haven't made a move. And I won't. So...if you wanted to...you could, ya know?"

Greg looked down at his hands uncomfortably. "I'm fine," he said quietly.

"Really? 'Cause you don't seem fine, I mean the way you ran out of here before. It's pretty obvious to everyone you've got a thing for her."

"Oh, so you guys are all taking bets on my chances, now?" snapped Greg.

"No, man. We just think you should go for it. You guys seem perfect for each other. I mean, she even likes that stuff you insist on calling music."

"It is music," muttered Greg reflexively, already reliving the impromptu performance he'd overheard.

Nick stared at him curiously after he hadn't spoken for a while.

"I'm fine, really," covered Greg. "I'm just not ready to deal with all the hassle it'll cause."

Nick looked doubtful. "All right, I guess, but I think your happiness is worth a lot more than the hassle. Besides, a girl like that...she'll be off the market fast."

Greg stared at him quickly in alarm. Of course, what if he was too late?

"Yeah, um, thanks Nick. You've given me a lot to think about."

It was an obvious dismissal, since Greg was already deep in thought, so Nick rolled his eyes in exasperation and left the room. He'd tried, and that's all he could do.

______

Later that night Sara also entered the lab looking for Greg. He saw her through the glass before she entered and, based on Nick's conversation earlier he could guess exactly what she wanted to talk about. He wasn't in the mood, but it was already too late. She saw him and waved, an enthused fake smile plastered on her face. He waved back half-heartedly.

If Grissom comes in here telling me to get on that ass, I'm quitting, he thought glumly.

"Hey Greg, how's it going?" she asked.

"Before you go off on your shpiel about how Viviane and I are 'meant to be' and how I should 'totally go for it', don't!" He cut her off.

"Oh...kay," she stopped, surprised. "How did you know what I wanted to talk to you about?"

"Because Nick already came in here with his own brand of 'get on that horse' logic."

"Well, I just...wanted to make sure you were okay. You left right after the interrogation."

"I'm fine," he said, throwing his arms up in exasperation. "I wasn't feeling well."

"It wasn't something Viviane said, was it? 'Cause I'll kill her for ya," said Sara, only half joking.

Greg looked over at her, a smile tugging at his lips. She cared, he gave her that. He was sure half the lab knew already — he hadn't been quite so idiotic before Viviane came, after all — so he gave up trying to keep his feelings to himself. Greg leaned over his lab bench and buried his face in his hands.

"God, Sara, I can't stop thinking about her."

It was muffled by his hands, but there was a definite note of self-mocking to his words. Sara pulled up a chair and sat down beside him.

"So what's the problem? Just...you know."

"I can't 'just...you know'. She's a co-worker! And if Ecklie found out...I'm already in trouble with the undersheriff, the media, the county, the people of Las Vegas — oh just about everyone! When Hodges leaks to the press that I'm dating a former ATF agent it'll be all over the news that I'm going to go shoot up the entire 'hood!"

Sara blinked slowly, at a loss for words. "Wow, Greg...It seems like you've created a very elaborate situation caused just by asking a girl out," she said carefully.

Greg looked up at her miserably. "It's all I think about lately."

"You must know that asking her out won't cause such a catastrophic chain of events."

"But what if it does?" he muttered disconsolately.

"Then it does! You're going to have to decide if she's worth it," she snapped. Greg raised his eyes and stared at her sheepishly.

"Maybe it's time you took control of your own future, Greg," she continued relentlessly. "If we all stopped to think what the people of Las Vegas thought about our actions we'd never get our jobs done — and most importantly we'd never be happy. So just fuck it!"

"So fuck it," he said slowly, as if trying the words out for the first time.

"Fuck it," she smiled at him.

"She is so worth it," he nodded, sitting up straight.

"There you go," smiled Sara.

Greg slumped over again, eyes glazing over. "With my luck this year...she'll turn out to be an FBI informant."

Sara stared him down, not very amused, until he relented with a wry smile. "All right, all right. Probably not..."

"You've had a bad year, yeah. But why are you letting it take over your life, Greg?"

"I don't know. I'm scared."

"We're all scared. We can't let that stop us from living."

"Speak for yourself," he muttered. "I just don't feel worthy of anyone right now. Definitely not someone as...I dunno...amazing as her. I haven't felt like a man for so long."

Sara considered making a joke, then realized this would be the worst time ever, so she nodded carefully and let him speak.

"I know nobody around here thinks of me as a manly guy —"

"Oh come on..."

"— no, Sara, don't," he cut her off. "I'm not stupid. I know how you guys see me. The joking, easy-going guy that doesn't stick up for himself. I've been that guy for a long time, but lately it's been too much even for him. I can't take being pushed around by that gang, and that kid's family, _and_ the undersheriff. I don't want her to see me like that. You saw her in there. She's tough as nails. How could she ever respect a guy like that? I don't even respect a guy like that."

He finished in a rush, all his pent-up questions and insecurities finally finding their way out.

"How could she ever like me?" he asked plaintively.

"I don't know, Greg, but I don't think you're giving her enough credit here. It's her decision to make, not yours."

Greg lowered his head into his arms again. "I know," came the muffled reply.

"And Greg...we might joke around with you, but you better believe we all have the utmost respect for the way you've handled all this crap. I'd have flipped out a while ago."

There was a long silence in which Sara wondered if he'd heard her, then a quiet "Thanks." Figuring he needed some space, Sara sighed and patted his shoulder, leaving the room quietly. She hoped he'd feel a little better after their talk.


	7. Taint

**Hey there. Sorry for the lag. Had to rewrite part of this chapter 'cause I lost it. School is pounding me too. Some complications for Greg...and delving more into the consequences of running over black kids. Enjoy!**

**p.s. Please review, it's disheartening to see so many views and not know what people think of it.  
**

The team had managed to secure one whole lunch hour to themselves, and they gathered happily in the break room, chatting about their cases and enjoying each others' company. Only Nick and Warrick still had frustrated looks on their faces, participating little in the joviality. Finally even Grissom turned to them and quirked an eyebrow.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

Nick looked up from his sandwich, smiling sheepishly. "Sorry, y'all. We just can't get our heads around this case. There's very little physical evidence other than this bruising on her body, which is extensive. About all we can figure out is that some of it was made by rope, and some not. So far she's a Jane Doe."

"What was the cause of death?" asked Grissom, coming to sit beside him.

"Asphyxia."

"May I see photos of the bruising?"

"Sure, knock yourself out," said Warrick, pushing a manilla envelope towards him.

Grissom slowly thumbed through the images, while the others, curious, moved to stand behind him and watch.

"These look like the marks of bondage," murmured Grissom.

"You bet they are," said a voice from the doorway. They looked over to see that Viviane had entered the room and stood looking at the images too. Her expression was hard to decipher — a mixture of awe, disgust, and self-mocking. She stepped closer, fingers almost reverently tracing the various bruises on the poor woman's body.

"This tortoise shell pattern is called kikkou shibari. Whoever did this made multiple kinds of ties one on top of another. This upper body one is called ushiro takate kote; see how the bruises form a U shape on the back. Whoever this person is, he's a master of kinbaku, japanese bondage."

She traced some of the bruises that formed intricate patterns in black and yellow, a frown on her face.

"But some of this is all wrong. He obviously has skill, but no regard for safety. See her ankles and wrists and neck; that's a clove hitch. It should never be used on the body because it becomes tighter the more pressure is applied to it. I think it's what killed her...he must have suspended her and the clove around her neck strangled her."

Viviane put down the photograph with distaste. "This guy is in it for pain, not pleasure."

"Isn't that what S&M is about?" asked Sara doubtfully.

"No respectable top would compromise the safety of the play like that. This guy just wanted to tie, then to kill. Like an object, this woman meant nothing to him."

It was like a bomb fell on Greg. He was sure his gaze was judgmental, though he was trying hard not to let it show. The truth was, he saw her differently now. She had been as close to an angel as he could imagine, but to imagine her engaging in — well he didn't want to imagine it. It was a discredit to her; he knew nothing about her had changed, objectively. Was it judgmental that she was less pure to him? He might talk about liquid latex, but never in his dating life had he actually done any of those things.

Viviane crossed to the other side of the room quickly, tearing herself away from the photographs with a sudden motion, as if she'd been caught in a compromising position and wanted to put distance between them. She busied herself with the coffee machine and spoke over her shoulder.

"Anyways, some of those ties are very intricate and hard to do — your guy is super old school. Which means he uses only jute rope. I'd check around the local stores and see if anyone bought large quantities of jute — not hemp. He might even import it specially."

"Wow, thanks Viv, we'll check that out," smiled Nick, though his eyebrows were a little too high and he was probably thinking the same thing they all were. It was a lot to digest, even without her nonchalant manner.

Greg's mind swirled with a million questions, but one managed to worm its way out of his lips and come out in a squeak.

"How..." he cleared his throat. "How do you know all this?"

Viviane shrugged, a guarded expression coming over her face. "I lived in Phoenix. There's a pretty big scene there. And...I spent quite a bit of time in Hamburg." She seemed unfazed by their incredulous looks, but she got the implication, because she shrugged again. "We all have our vices," she said.

Grissom nodded, the only one who seemed equally unfazed by this revelation; still inspecting the photos. "And sometimes our vices get us killed," he said gravely.

"Thanks, Viv," said Warrick, standing up. "I'll start checking the shops."

Nick nodded, standing up too. "And I'll start checking the local clubs to see if anyone recognizes her. She might be a regular. Thanks."

She smiled slightly at him. "No problem. Glad I could be of help."

Greg stared at the side of her head, and could think of nothing else. Her offhand confession...it was almost as if she'd just mentioned the weather report. When Nick and Warrick left, and Grissom had gone back to reading his paper, Greg still hadn't accepted it. He needed more information.

"What was your safe word?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

She stopped in the act of taking a bite of her sandwich, eyebrow quirking. "Kumquat," she said finally with a straight face.

Catherine chuckled as she sat down on the couch with a fresh cup of coffee. "Innovative."

Viviane settled back and chewed thoughtfully, not responding. Her eyes betrayed a flicker of — something. Greg wasn't sure what. He scolded himself mentally for bringing it up again; he should have waited until they were alone, but, well, she brought it up first so...

"So what were you, the top or bottom?" he asked, still trying to catch her in a lie. She couldn't...couldn't have done all that. But he was kidding himself. She probably had a wild experimental streak.

"Greg..." frowned Catherine. "That's kind of a personal question."

Greg lowered his face and stared at his lunch. "Yeah, huh. Sorry."

Viviane said nothing, and the rest of the lunch hour passed in uncomfortable silence.

______

"Would Greg Sanders please go see Undersheriff McKeen immediately please."

Greg suppressed a shudder at the voice of doom coming from the PA system. It seemed like everything that came from that cursed box was meant to destroy his peace of mind. He hunched his shoulders against the curious glances coming from his colleagues and sidled through the halls towards Grissom's office. A cold uncomfortable knot formed in his stomach as he approached the door. He could see three dark figures inside. Taking a calming breath he grasped the handle and opened the door.

Grissom sat behind his desk, face unreadable, although it seemed somewhat apologetic to Greg. The undersheriff and Ecklie stood awkwardly, foregoing the chairs set out for them. Their faces immediately assumed artful expressions of guile when he stepped inside. Greg stood by the door awkwardly, unsure whether to sit down or stay standing like them. Ecklie motioned to a chair and cleared his throat.

"Sit down, Greg. Welcome," he said, flashing a sympathetic smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Greg cleared his throat even more nervously. "Thanks," he mumbled, but made no move to sit.

"Well," started Ecklie. Greg looked at him, curiosity overcoming nervousness.

"We're planning an event for the lab; the whole department actually," said Ecklie, glancing at the undersheriff. "A Christmas party. And we'd like it if you and your family would be there." He assumed a blank face. "We've already made the arrangements."

Greg was taken aback by the offer. Why do it at all? He glanced at Grissom, but he showed no reaction. He seemed to be waiting for Greg's response. Why? And then it dawned on him. The nerve — to use his parents like that. He trembled in his shoes, furious at them.

"You want to make me a public spectacle." It was a statement of fact, not even a question anymore.

There it was — the undersheriff's eyes narrowed slightly. So that was it.

"You want to make me a media scapegoat!" He clenched his hands into fists.

"That's not it at all," said Ecklie, but he didn't sound convincing.

"No, you want to show the dear old people of Vegas that I'm just a harmless white boy with nice parents who plays by the rules," retorted Greg, sarcasm dripping form his words.

There was an uncomfortable silence as neither side was willing to back down. Finally Greg asked stiffly, "And what if I refuse?"

McKeen crossed his arms in a manner that left little doubt as to his answer. "That wouldn't be advisable. The county has already gone to great expense to get this situation under control." No doubt what that was referring to. "And we're doing more now, still fixing the PR nightmare from the payoff. You _will_ be there, _with_ your parents, posing for the cameras and looking suitably repentant if it's the hardest thing you ever do."

The threat was implicit and Greg couldn't do anything more than stare from Ecklie to McKeen in defeat. To his credit, Ecklie managed to look at least a little sympathetic. Finally Greg looked to Grissom for help. Cocking his head to the side and shooting both men a thinly veiled dirty look, Grissom spoke.

"This is a less than desirable situation, Greg, but take it as part of the job. If the county wants to put on an elaborate charade to demonstrate that we're all wonderful, God-fearing people, so be it. Whatever it takes to let us do our jobs on the clock, right?"

Greg nodded, face stony.

"As for your parents," Grissom shot the undersheriff a particularly nasty look, "they've only been told, as everyone, that this party is to honour the excellent job the lab has done this year, which includes you."

"Oh, you mean you didn't tell them they'll be there to make me look human for all the gang-bangers' mothers who hate me?" muttered Greg.

"Look, we're flying them out and putting them up in a nice hotel. They'll be there, and so will you. This discussion is over," said McKeen brusquely.

Greg stepped back stiffly, anger still showing in every movement. "May I be excused? I have to go tell them the lucky news," he said through clenched jaws. Without waiting for a response he left the room, and it took every effort of his not to slam the door in their face.

He stood outside the office, back straight but every nerve in his body on edge. He hadn't made a plan for after he stormed out, so now all he could do was stare down the hall and blink tears of frustration away. Eventually he began to notice the curious stares and he turned away, quickly brushing down a side hall to the staircase leading to the roof. The last thing he needed right now were pitying stares or questions. Feeling the need to vent his frustration, he began by taking it out on the stairwell door. Slamming through and running up the stairs, he barely registered the throbbing in his arm.

Reaching the roof he stood panting with exertion just outside the door. A great feeling of helplessness welled up inside him as he stared around the empty expanse. He wanted to cry, to yell, to pull at his hair, all at once, but he knew it wouldn't help with the crushing frustration that was very nearly driving him insane. He started walking across the roof, heading in the general direction of the edge. His ringing phone stopped him.

"Sanders," he sighed.

"Oh hello, dear," came a voice on the other end.

Greg groaned inwardly. Just what he needed now. It seemed the universe was hell bent on having him relive this moment continuously. He put on a falsely cheery voice that was the best he could muster.

"Hey, Mom."

"Listen, honey, I know you're busy right now but I just wanted to tell you how proud we are of you!"

"Oh, hmm, thanks Mom," said Greg, fighting back tears of helplessness.

It was most unfair for his parents — this elaborate lie that their own son had to participate in!

"Are you all right, Greg?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, Mom. Just stressed from work," he sighed.

"Well all right, we'll see you then. Oh I can't wait! I can't believe they're flying us out especially for it!"

Greg closed his eyes wearily. It was just so sad...

"Bye, Mom," he whispered, pressing his fingers into his eyes.

"Bye, love." Click.

Greg stared down at his phone, gripping it angrily. He had the uncontrollable urge to just throw it over the edge, but he stopped himself with difficulty and shoved it deep into his pocket, then started again across the rooftop. He knew he couldn't stay up here forever, but if he didn't get some time to cool down he'd probably explode at someone.

Unfortunately, now was a dangerous time for her to come after him, though she was the one person he really wanted to be around. And there it was. That scent, like forests at the peak of summer and effortlessly intoxicating. Greg turned his head, and there she was, framed by the dawn's light. He wondered for a minute why it was her that always came after him when he had one of these tantrums — maybe his co-workers sent her up because they couldn't deal with him. No...she wasn't the type to do something like that. It must be her idea. But he so hoped she wouldn't bring it up — no, not even her, because he didn't know if he could control himself right now.

"May I?" she asked finally, gesturing to a spot beside him.

"Sure, go ahead," he nodded, turning back to his contemplation of the city.

She sat down beside him, cross-legged on the very outward ledge. She said nothing for a very long time, and when Greg finally glanced over she was staring out over the city with a faraway look in her eyes. For once she seemed to be at a loss for words, or at least the right ones, because when she looked back at him he only got an apologetic smile. That was fine by him. He really couldn't take advice right now, even from her.

So instead he blurted the first thing that popped into his mind, that had actually been on his mind for a while now.

"Were you the top or bottom?"

Viviane stiffened slightly and the smile died from her lips — she made as if to say something but evidently thought better of it. Greg regretted saying anything, but at this point something inside him didn't care enough about anything to recoil at having offended her. The smile returned, albeit slightly dulled, as if she was trying to ignore unpleasant thoughts.

"Why do you want to know?"

Greg turned away quickly, escaping her piercing gaze, and especially because he didn't want her to see the expression on his face. And because he'd had a phenomenally awful day, and she was the only one brave enough to come after him, he picked a fight.

"I just don't get how anyone could ever do that stuff. It's so demeaning and disgusting; they must be depraved," he said, scathing words almost visibly tarnishing the air between them.

Don't look at her, don't look, don't look, he muttered in his head. There was no way to take his words back now; there they were. But he most definitely did not want to see what effect they'd had on her usually lovely face. The rational part of his brain cried in anguish at what he'd just done, and he couldn't help the sidelong glance he stole. Just a glimpse, but it was long enough.

Her face was blank, swiped of any visible emotion, but there was a tightness to her mouth that belied her feelings. Her eyes were stricken, no amount of practice able to untrain her eyes from showing emotion when someone she really cared about said such hurtful things.

Greg's insides stiffened as he met her gaze. Any hopes he had that she hadn't understood were dashed. She knew exactly what he'd meant. And there was no taking it back now. She was trying so hard to keep herself under control; an admirable sentiment since Greg would probably break down if she started to cry. Her eyebrows were furrowed and a question hovered around her eyes.

"Why?", saw Greg, though he couldn't quite be sure. She said nothing for a while. Finally he felt a rustling beside him and looked up in alarm to see her standing up. The words he desperately wanted to say stuck in his throat — what could he say, to excuse himself?

But she spoke first, and if Greg had hoped her words would assuage his guilt — if only she was angry, or spiteful — he was mistaken. It was simple. No accusation, not even any judgment. And if possible, it made him feel even worse.

"Mostly I was a switch. I'll tell you about it someday, but I think now isn't the right time. You've had a bad day and I've only made it worse. I should leave," she said, nodding her head at him, but not meeting his gaze.

Greg's hand twitched; her hair fell over her face in the most alluring way, obscuring the pain in her eyes and making her seem all the more innocent. He longed to brush it away, to kneel before her and beg forgiveness, but instead he did nothing. He clenched his hand to stop it.

She made a strange bobbing movement, half bow and curtsy, hair still covering her face, then turned quickly and walked to the stairwell entrance. The dull thud of the metal door slamming shut seemed to be a perfect sick analogy for the situation — Greg's chances, permanently clanging shut. He buried his face in his hands, stricken. He didn't even know why he'd done it. He'd made her cry...Oh God. Because he knew what that last gesture had been. She refused to let him see her cry, and so she'd had to escape him. And who could blame her? He'd spilled all his shit on her, and all she wanted to do was help.

After what felt like hours he managed to peel himself off the ledge and return to work. He spent the rest of the night in a fog; avoiding everyone unless absolutely necessary. By morning he was so glad to be out of the building and going home, away from all the prying eyes and questioning looks that he spent an hour just sitting in his car, relishing the time alone. His emotions were so close to the edge; he knew he wouldn't have lasted much longer in there.

With a sick irony he realized that because of his attack on her, he hadn't even thought of his problems with McKeen, and all of a sudden he couldn't take it. Fumbling in his pocket, forehead pressed into his steering wheel and eyes shut tightly, he prayed he hadn't ruined everything. He needed to talk to someone, and he could only think of one person who could help him. Vaguely he realized he was having a panic attack; breath coming in short gasps and an overwhelming urge to cry. He finally managed to grab his phone and dial the number.

"Hello?" came the familiar voice on the other end.

"Sara," he gasped thankfully, opening his eyes. "You're there..."

"Yeah, what's wrong Greg?"

"I don't know, I think I've ruined everything," he almost sobbed, all the pent-up emotions from the day bubbling up.

"Ruined what?" she asked, more calmly now. Greg took her cue and took a few calming breaths.

"I was so angry about the stupid stunt McKeen is pulling...I said something awful to her. I just blurted it out...I don't even know why. I think I made her cry," he groaned, reliving the awful moment.

Silence. "You made her cry?" said Sara in slight disbelief.

"Yes, yes, I know!" cried Greg, smashing a palm into the dashboard. "Viviane, who has the emotional control of a Vulcan, was moved to tears by the awful thing I said to her!"

"Well, maybe it wasn't that bad, she was just more upset because it came from you," offered Sara.

Greg sighed. "Does it matter? I don't even know why I picked a fight. She was just trying to help. She's the only one who always tries to help, just by being there. And I pushed her away. And the sad thing is, she helps me more than anyone."

"Thanks," came Sara's dry response.

"Not you too, Sara, please," he whimpered.

"Well you'll just have to apologize, Greg," she said firmly. "And I think I know her well enough to know she'll accept it. Then you can both move on."

"I know you're right, Sara," he said. "But..."

There was a long pause on the other end, then, "I'm wondering if there isn't another reason you did it."

"What do you mean?"

"Maybe you sabotaged yourself because you're afraid of her rejecting you."

"Why..." he said, incredulous.

"I don't know, but we've given you plenty of opportunities, and so has she, from what you've told me. She hasn't been out with anyone else, so there's nothing preventing you from asking her out — except...your fear."

"She's just...out of my league," he said lamely.

"That's crap and you know it," she snapped. "Just go apologize, Greg," she finished in a softer tone.

"Thanks, Sara," he said gratefully, vowing to buy her a big bouquet the next day.

"You're welcome. Now go get some sleep. And...I'm sorry about McKeen. You don't deserve that."

"Good night, Sara," he mouthed quietly, shutting the phone off. He rested his head against the wheel again, drained from everything that day, but mostly dreading the talk he'd be having soon.

He could see her car from where he sat; she was still inside the building. He could go there now and meet her at the car. Greg reached to open the door and was halfway out when he spotted her exiting the elevator. He closed his door carefully. It made no sound and he was glad his car was parked in a shadowed area. She didn't see him as she walked carefully to her car.

Why am I standing here like a stalker, he muttered to himself. Striding out into the open, he made a half-coughing sound that sounded more like a choke. Viviane spun around, hand going to her waist and other arm coming up in a fist.

Greg stepped back in alarm, hands coming up defensively, until recognition dawned in her eyes and she lowered her hands.

"Oh, Greg, I'm so sorry!" she breathed, stepping back apologetically. "It's a reflex..."

When his body had untensed, his mind returned from the corner it had retreated to and he stared at her in bordering panic.

"Some reflexes, huh," he joked, voice hoarse.

"Well you did sneak up behind me like a mugger," she smiled wanly, tucking her hands into her pockets and leaning back on her heels.

Forcing himself to relax, he looked into her face, searching for pity, but all he saw was exhaustion and a little sadness. A twinge of guilt surfaced and he remembered why he was sneaking up behind her.

"Yeah, sorry about that," he smiled weakly back.

She didn't say anything and waited for something, eyebrows slightly raised. He stared back at her, drinking in her features, until he realized she was waiting for him to say something.

"I...um...I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for the way I treated you...before," he started. "You were just trying to help and I was a total jerk."

She said nothing, still.

He continued, trying to keep his voice steady even though it threatened to crack at any moment. "I was having a really bad day and I just...wanted to take it out on someone and you just happened to be there," he said, head hanging. "I didn't mean what I said."

He looked up into her face; it was expressionless in the strange gloom of the underground garage, drained of colour by the sickly yellow lights. He waited for her to say something, praying it would be forgiving.

"But you do think it," she finally said in resignation.

Greg looked at her unhappily, wishing he could lie to her. But he couldn't, and there was really no point now.

"I..." he opened his mouth, but nothing came out. "I'm sorry," he said finally, hating himself for the unhappy look he raised in her.

"Then I should be the one to say sorry," she said, reaching out to grasp his hand. His heart thrilled at the touch. "I shouldn't have left you so abruptly when you were so upset. I was being selfish."

Greg gaped at her. "You're never selfish, Viviane," he assured her, unable to understand why her face was screwing into near anguish.

"No! You were upset and I just compounded it with my problems, and now you feel bad for something which isn't your fault at all!" she cried, grasping his hand tighter. Actual tears were threatening to break free as she stared at him so sincerely. His heart broke and all he wanted to do was wipe them away.

"It was so immature, running away from you like that," she breathed, chest heaving with emotion.

Greg couldn't tear his eyes away from her. "What about me? Taking my frustrations out on you? That's immature," he said, reaching out and wiping a tear away. She turned her head to the side in a curious motion, as if to catch his hand against her shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, I'm turning into a mess," she said, reaching up with one hand to hide her face and turning away slightly.

Greg smiled at her. "Viviane, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were ashamed to look human," he chided gently.

"You sound like my brother," she grimaced at him from behind a curtain of hair.

"Maybe he has a point," said Greg softly.

"I know, that's what makes you both so annoying," she said, sniffing and wiping at one eye with a sleeve before turning around to face him. She looked up at him seriously.

"Look, Greg, I don't expect everyone to be fine with my lifestyle choices, but what's done is done and even I can't change that," she said, staring into his eyes and making his knees weak. "And if you want to take out your frustrations on me that's perfectly fine. Go ahead."

Greg stared and shook his head vigorously. "No way! I don't want our relationship to be like that!" He blushed quickly. "I mean, you're my friend, and friends don't treat each other that way." He shook his head a final time. "It's my problem, I know. Nothing to do with you."

She turned away once more and their hands lost contact. "I just..." she started, then stopped, shoulders hunching. "I don't want you to judge me."

Her words hung between them, heavy with meaning. Because Greg did feel a sliver of judgment worming its way into his heart whenever he thought of her, tied up at someone's mercy. And try as he might, he couldn't make the feeling go away — that she was somehow tainted now. But she wasn't — she was still the same beautiful, funny, lovely Viviane. Or maybe it was because of that. He bit his lip unhappily, then jumped back as she suddenly kicked at the side of her car and bent over it, hands braced on the hood.

"I am fine with the choices I've made, and damn it I have never let anyone make me feel bad for them," she choked out. "But it's...different with...you..."

Greg stepped back, stricken by what he'd done. This was his problem, and yet he'd managed to make her suffer for it.

"I'm so sorry Viviane," he said, reaching out to touch her shoulder. "This has nothing to do with you. I don't judge you for anything. You're...you're perfect the way you are."

She snorted from behind the safety of her hair. Greg began walking backwards, suddenly wishing he'd never come to talk to her.

"This is all my fault...I'm sorry. I'll go now." Tears pricking his eyes, he turned and walked quickly back to his car, shutting the door and sitting in the driver's seat in shock. Eventually he saw her straighten and wipe her face, then slowly get into her car and drive away.

It was a long time before he could bring himself to do the same.


	8. Resolutions

**So sorry about the delay. I kept writing and re-writing two of the scenes and just couldn't get them to sound right. And though I'm still not entirely happy with it, it is what it is. Just one chapter left, and it's all finished, so you shouldn't have to wait too long after this.**

______

The next month was hellish for Greg. Between the pitying looks he got at work (the entire lab had of course been ordered to attend the Christmas party) and his self-imposed banishment from enjoying Viviane's company, he barely made it through each day. Living in a fog, he was alert only to evidence and cases, but otherwise drifted through people as if they weren't there. They all saw it, even if only his friends knew what the source was, and then only Sara knew the full details of that day. Though she repeatedly told him that everything would be fine if he just bit the bullet and went back to her, that they could resume their friendship (and even Viviane seemed to agree, for she attempted contact as if nothing had happened; hiding somewhere deep inside those hurt feelings), it was Greg who couldn't go back.

He couldn't get past the pain he'd caused, nor could he reconcile his own feelings of judgment. And how he hated himself for his weakness. So he refused to contact her, though it hurt them both, but he really had no better idea. In some part of his mind, he was making a noble self-sacrifice, to spare Viviane the pain of his judgmental behaviour — but as the days passed he could no longer tell for whom he was doing it. Who was he denying? So he shut Sara out too. Her advice, though well-meaning, only caused him to be more conflicted, and he spent half his time wistfully staring at the familiar orange hair through glass and the other half avoiding Sara's darkly meaningful looks.

By the end of shift he was almost more exhausted than after doubles, and more tightly wound that ever. He flopped down on his couch, resting the back of his head against the wall and trying to ease tired muscles. Running his fingers through his hair, he mentally noted that he should get a haircut soon.

Just in time for my public outing, he grimaced.

Staring up at the ceiling, as his body was beginning to relax, his mind seemed to want to go the other way. Avoiding his feelings was easy during the day, when work could keep him mindlessly at one task, but his apartment was still and lonely, and it wasn't enough to make him forget. He blinked back the frustration that constantly gnawed at him, eating away at his heart and raising an intense self-loathing inside him.

He needed to do something — he couldn't keep living like this! Staggering to his feet, Greg forced himself to walk to his bedroom. Not even bothering to take his clothes off he collapsed into bed. The dreams came even more frequently now; not a night went by that he didn't wake from some vision that he couldn't even remember, but whose impression left little to the imagination. They were becoming more intense, until it was all he could do the next day not to surprise Viviane in her lab and ravish her on the spot.

He pulled the covers around him, gripping the sheets so tightly his knuckles glowed white. He groped on the nightstand for his phone. Who was he going to call? All Greg knew was that he needed to talk to someone — anyone — or he'd go crazy. Thumb tracing the number pad, he took a deep breath and did the first thing that popped into his mind.

"Good morning, ATF hotline, how may I help you?"

"Hi, um," Greg cleared his throat, "could you connect me to Glenn Lahtinen please? It's..uh...Greg Sanders."

"One moment, please."

What are the chances he's still in the office, thought Greg morosely. Probably out arresting coke dealers while I can't stop obsessing about his sister. For a fleeting moment Greg was about to hang up, then —

"Glenn here."

Greg shut his eyes tightly and tried to calm his breathing.

"Hi Glenn, it's...um...Greg. From the Vegas crime lab," he said.

"Yeah, Greg, I know." He seemed wholly unsurprised to be hearing from him, and Greg wondered in alarm whether Viviane had told him about their fight.

"Is everything all right?" His voice interrupted Greg's spiral into self-flaggelation.

"Yeah I just...didn't know who to call. I hope...you don't mind," he hesitated.

"It's not a problem, Greg. Are you okay?"

There was that question...the question everyone had been asking him lately. For once he knew the answer.

"No," he said, closing his eyes tightly. "No I'm not."

Greg shook his head mutely in the dark, berating himself profusely. Why did you have to call him? The last person that needs to hear this. But a bubble of desperation welled up inside him, and it escaped his mouth before he could stop it, or analyze what it said.

"It's about Viviane," he choked out. "I...um...I just...said something really bad to her and I don't know what to do." Burying his face in one hand, he felt like dying of mortification in some sane part of his mind.

"I see."

Now was his chance. Glenn was giving him ample opportunity to come out with it. But Greg couldn't say anything. This was her brother. He couldn't even believe he was talking to him about any of this. But he desperately needed to talk to someone — someone who wasn't on his side and who could tell him just exactly what was wrong with him.

"Did you know she was into bondage?" he blurted.

There was a long pause. "Yes," said Glenn calmly.

"And it doesn't bother you?" asked Greg tentatively.

"No," replied Glenn.

Greg sighed. "I'm such a bad person...I just can't get over it. And I know I shouldn't be saying this to you cause you'll probably kick my ass but I don't care! I can't help but judge her a little bit! Hah! Me! Judge her. It's ridiculous!"

"I can't tell you that it won't be a problem. She can't change her past."

"I know," groaned Greg. "But how could she let someone degrade her like that...I've seen those clubs! I know what goes on inside them!"

"I can't tell you, Greg. You'll have to ask her about it."

"Yeah, Glenn. I know, but that conversation terrifies me to no end."

"What is it that bothers you?"

"I don't know! That's just it! Maybe this entire year has been so crappy that it doesn't bother me at all and I'm just lashing out at her for no reason! Or maybe I saw her as the perfect woman and now that image is shattered by her one vice! Or maybe I'm just so goddamn in love with your sister that I can't stand the thought of anyone but me touching her!"

The last of his shout echoed in the room and he froze in shock at what he'd said, mouth open and breathing raggedly.

"So you finally admit it," said Glenn gently, voice amused.

Greg swallowed heavily, suddenly at a loss for words. "You knew?" he finally managed to whisper, even as his world came crashing down around him.

"I think everyone knows, Greg," said Glenn kindly.

"Okay, fine. I guess I knew that. I know I'm being stupid and I should just talk to her about this, but what do I say? I can't even forgive myself — how can I expect her to?" sighed Greg. "I had a problem that was mine, and mine alone, and I made her feel bad for something she shouldn't feel bad about!"

"Greg you need to talk to her about this if you want to fix it."

"I know..." Greg shook at the very thought of that conversation. "I know, Glenn. But I don't know how. She's so...perfect."

Glenn laughed deeply. "That's sweet, Greg, and Viv is a great sister, but she's certainly not perfect. She's got a foul temper, a mean right hook, and she's probably the biggest kink you'll ever meet."

Greg nodded in the dark. It was easy to agree on the surface that Glenn was right. After all, how could anyone really be perfect? But one look at her face and Greg was a goner — hopelessly mesmerized by her beauty and devastated about his adequacy. It wasn't even her physical beauty that he found intoxicating, but the sparkle in her eyes. There was an excitement, a curiosity, an acceptance there that he found captivating. So how could he, with all the hardships he'd been through this past year, hope to contribute half as much as she could?

Anyways, he had to try. And not only try, but make it up to her for this tortured courtship. First, he had to talk to her. Second — then he had an idea. It was absurd, wild, potentially disastrous , and yet if it worked, it would go a long way towards righting Greg's wrongs. Chancing it, he told Glenn, and was amazed to find encouragement. Maybe he just didn't want Greg to call him again.

Hanging up, Greg smiled. He felt much better.

______

He decided to catch her in the parking garage again. He wasn't sure why; but he surmised that he wanted to erase his former failures there. So he stood beside her car, awkwardly waiting and rehearsing the lame speech he'd prepared, such as it was. It started with a sorry, and involved a lot of groveling.

The elevator doors chimed and with them his heart jumped into his throat. There she was. As she walked towards him an amused expression came over her face.

"Do you have some sort of attraction to dimly lit parking complexes?" she said as she came closer.

"Maybe I just have a fetish for concrete," he smiled weakly. Her eyes flicked at the f-word and she looked away. He'd opened their wound.

"So, is there a reason you're stalking my car?" she asked eventually. He looked at her, resolved.

"I wanted to talk," he began. "I think we need to talk."

"Maybe," she cocked her head, subconsciously straightening as if to draw strength from her posture. "Do you want to...?" She gestured to the car.

"Ok," he said a little too quickly. He was nervous, despite his resolve to talk to her.

They climbed into the car and sat in silence for several long minutes. Eventually Greg glanced over at her, but she was staring straight ahead.

"I wanted to start by apologizing for what I said," he began haltingly. "I know it doesn't excuse anything, but I just got some really...bad news and I took it out on you.

"You don't have to apologize," she said evenly, as always.

"But I do, Viviane. Whatever my feelings about the issue, that was no way to treat a friend."

She nodded, accepting the apology, but still staring ahead.

"You said you'd tell me about it someday," said Greg tentatively. "How about now?"

Viviane raised an eyebrow.

"No judgement, I promise," he held up his hands in surrender. She sighed, but smiled lightly. "We'll see."

"I went to a fetish club once when I was at Stanford," said Greg suddenly.

"Did you, now," smiled Viviane.

"Yeah I think it was as a joke for one of my friends."

"Now why don't I believe that," she grinned.

"I'm serious! There was only one in Palo Alto—"

"I meant the part about you having friends."

Greg frowned good-naturedly, secretly ecstatic that their former awkwardness was slowly dissipating. It was now that he had an almost unbearable urge to utter "I love you". He could feel the words bubbling up, but their taste in his mouth was bittersweet, and he finally realized what he was so afraid of. His confession would be the irrevocable loss of something. He'd be thrust instantly into the unpredictable future. Expectations, compromises; he wasn't sure he could handle it anymore. Something precious had been wrested from him during the beating; an inexhaustible supply of optimism was punctured, and Greg no longer felt as if everything would work out.

He'd experienced first-hand the importance of friendship. Had his co-workers not grounded him after the beating, his life would have been permanently shattered. If he lost her friendship now, if his one declaration ruined everything, would all the shoring up of his fragile sense of safety fall apart? He said nothing. Smiling, he prodded her gently.

"So how did you start?"

Viviane made a face. "Oh God...Umm...I guess it started with this friend I had at Coronado. Glenn was just starting SEAL training so he was never around. I must have been 17, and there was another girl on the base whose dad was an Admiral. She was constantly trying to get his attention by, you guessed it, rebelling. The stuff she came up with was legendary. I only went along with it 'cause I thought she was fun."

She glanced sideways at him, but he just smiled encouragingly.

"Well, Kim decided one day we were going to go to a Navy party with our newly minted fake IDs," she continued. "And it was a Navy party, all right, but I guess some of the guys on the base she'd asked decided to trick her, because the 'party' turned out to be an illegal S&M bash in some warehouse."

Greg could imagine a precocious 17-year-old Viviane, already world weary by that age, being intrigued by the sights there.

"Now, my parents were always very open about sex; none of that weewee bullshit, and growing up on a Navy base around Glenn's friends meant I'd heard pretty much everything, but somehow they forgot to mention this. There was a guy tied up in the middle of the room..."

Greg grimaced at the mental image, and she chuckled.

"Well you'll be happy to know that the MAs raided that party and hauled everyone in. Glenn had to leave training to come pick me up...he was _mad..._"

Chuckling, Greg imagined the scene.

"Of course, my friend couldn't have been happier. Can you imagine her father finding out she'd been at a place like that?" Viviane laughed. "Anyways, I started learning to tie, and when I went to college I began doing burlesque. And eventually, since it was mostly an overlapping crowd, I migrated to the underground clubs. Then when I was in Norway, I would take trips down to Hamburg for the festivals."

Greg nodded silently while he tried to compose his speech so that it sounded better.

"So you really get off on...pain?" he asked, glancing quickly at her.

"Greg, I don't think—"

"Come on, please."

She sighed. "Well...yeah. Under carefully controlled circumstances, I do like a little...extra sensation." She smiled wryly at him. "Look, for someone who's always in control like me, I like the feeling of being completely helpless sometimes. Take from that what you will."

Greg nodded thoughtfully. He could understand that. "So you were..."

"A switch."

"Really?"

"It's hard to find one or the other, depending on where you are, and since I had no particular preference..."

"Viviane..."

She turned to look at him, and as always when her eyes landed on him a tickle of excitement flared in his stomach.

"Yes, Greg?"

"Why is this such a big problem for me?"

She cocked her head to the side, studying him quietly.

"Do you find the entire act unpleasant or just my doing it?"

"You." It came out quickly, before Greg had any chance to stop it, and he was surprised at what he'd said. Yes, because he'd never had a problem with it before — what was it about her doing it that sent slivers of disgust through his system?

She raised an eyebrow. "I see."

"Viviane I think you're...an amazing person," he gulped, then plunged on. "I think I saw you as the perfect woman—"

She laughed in delight; a genuinely hearty laugh that he'd missed so much. "And now you don't?"

"I guess that while I have no problems with regular people doing that kind of stuff, it's not something I could see...angels doing."

"Angels, yet," she grinned. But Greg leaned forward suddenly and put his hand over her mouth.

"Viviane, just...let me talk..." He stared into her wide eyes earnestly, and she barely nodded, mouth moist against his palm. He spoke gently.

"My illusions were shattered. But I think I could live with the reality instead...I think I'd like to get to know the real you. I...like the real you, Viviane."

Greg let his hand fall away from her mouth after a minute of silence, and she said nothing still, breath escaping her slightly parted lips shallowly. They stared into each others' eyes as the message sunk in, and Greg watched her lips opening and closing minutely, as if gathering courage for a more daring move. But surprisingly, it was he who made the first move.

He lunged forward, and their lips made contact with a stunning impact. He'd wanted only to taste them, a desperate need surfacing in him to possess those perfect bow shapes. There was that word again. But if her lips were perfect, then the kiss was anything but. It was grasping, needy, passionate, but also tentative and awkward, and its sublime imperfection made it all the more exciting for Greg.

He pulled away finally, gasping deeply as if starved, and finding his hands had migrated upward to grip the sides of her head tightly. He slowly relaxed his grip, still staring in shock into her eyes. Her hands had come up too, and they hung, suspended in the air as if touching an invisible object.

Greg's heart thudded painfully in his ears, but all he could hear was the ragged breath coming from her still parted lips. He surged forward again, catching them in a still rougher act; his need to taste them again outweighing his need for caution, and a moan rose from the back of his throat at the feeling. She pressed back with an equal passion, and they met again and again like two waves crashing into each other. Parting finally, they panted with the effort of such an exchange, eyes sparkling with fire.

After a long while Greg spoke breathlessly.

"That was..."

"...awful," she supplied, grinning slowly.

"Totally flawed," he smiled back weakly, noticing that his hands were still trembling. He pulled away, his body reacting sluggishly while his mind was already calculating the consequences of his instinctual gesture. As he tried to clear the fog from his mind, he was already fumbling for the door latch. Her eyes followed his movements, confusion clouding her face.

Greg leaned forward again and kissed her cheek gently before sliding past to whisper in her ear.

"I really am sorry for what I said," he murmured. "And...it was amazing." He allowed his lips to brush her cheek once more, then pulled away and stumbled out of the car. As he walked quickly to his car and got in shakily, he was already mentally kicking himself. What he'd just done was dating suicide, and yet he felt like he was going to suffocate if he stayed in that car for one more second. He needed time to think; to process what had just happened, and he hoped desperately that she would understand. He could hardly believe what had just happened.

After a few minutes he heard an engine revving and a car driving by his spot, but with forehead pressed firmly into the steering wheel he thankfully didn't see her. His hands gripped his knees weakly. He'd done it. Well, he'd done something. And that was a start, wasn't it? He could only wait now, for the night of the party to come and to see his dream come true. He hoped desperately that his instincts about Viviane were correct.

He thought back on their conversation and breathed a sigh of relief — he certainly no longer felt any disgust imagining her doing anything. The woman he visualized now was real, and open, and all Viviane. And that was more exciting to him than any fantasy. The road ahead for him was remarkably clear, and, as if their kiss had been a baptism by fire, he was no longer nervous about her reaction. Greg started his car with a serene, if shell-shocked, smile and drove away.

______

Their first meeting that night was witnessed by the entire team, so they could do little more than murmur 'hello' over the break room table. Their eyes, however, burned holes into each other.

After a moment Viviane's gaze flicked to something behind Greg's shoulder, and a horrified look crossed her face. Greg spun around to see Hodges entering the break room, a large bouquet of roses floating precariously in front of him.

Greg stepped away, staring at Hodges like he was a madman. He bumped into Nick, who barely reacted as they both watched in awe. Hodges handed the roses to Viviane, who accepted them apprehensively.

"Oh...Hodges...you...shouldn't have," she backed away slightly, a pained expression on her face. "You..._really_ shouldn't have.

The team tried their hardest to keep a straight face and held their stomachs tightly. Until Hodges got down on one knee, and Greg had to bend over as he choked on his drink. Hot coffee scalded his throat as he spluttered at the sight of Hodges' upturned face, shining with hope. Nick pounded on his back even as his full attention was trained on the train-wreck happening right in front of them. Greg finally managed to get his throat under control and he stared at Viviane.

"The hand of a lady such as you can only be won by the purest of heart," began Hodges, taking Viviane's cringing hand. He looked as if he was about to lick it or swallow it whole; he had a frighteningly hungry look on his face.

"Would you do me the honour of accompanying me to the Christmas party?"

The question hung in the air, and Greg had a sudden urge to laugh hysterically at the ridiculousness of the situation. The entire room was frozen watching the spectacle taking place in front of them. There couldn't possibly be a way to answer his question without doing irreversible damage to the situation, and for once Greg actually felt sorry for Hodges. Viviane glanced around and met Greg's eyes. Her expression was for once unsure — unsure how to handle the man hanging off her hand like a leech and the memories she still had of their kiss.

Greg cleared his throat loudly.

"Wasn't your brother going to be your date, Viviane?" he spoke up. He pulled it out of thin air, hoping it would get both of them out of the debacle with a minimum of damage, but her head snapped to the side and she stared at him in disbelief. She'd obviously thought he would ask her to the party himself, and he grimaced at having to do this to her. Just trust me for a bit longer, he thought, trying to make his expression both apologetic and hopeful.

After the second of confusion, her face melted into a grateful smile.

"Yes, actually, he was!" she said brightly as if she'd only now remembered. "I'm terribly sorry, David, but you know he's...er...family. And he doesn't know anyone here..."

Their attention snapped back to Hodges, who at mention of her brother had visibly blanched. Greg remembered his reaction to Glenn at the hospital and realized the man probably intimidated Hodges. He put on a suitably morose expression and stood up, prudently avoiding eye contact with the rest of the team.

"This pains me to no end, Viviane," he said, staring a little too intently into her eyes. She subconsciously leaned back, and Greg had to turn away to stifle a laugh. He seemed to have absolutely no inkling of his effect on other people.

"Perhaps one day you will reconsider and we could go out for a...morning snack?"

Viviane stammered an apology, which he took magnanimously. Her hand was still held hostage in his grip, and she futilely tried to tug it away. Finally he let go and straightened, making a great show of looking out into the hallway.

"There's Conrad," he said excitedly, striding away purposefully. "I have a few ideas for the party I'd like to see implemented..."

It took only a moment for those assembled to burst into laughter. Only Viviane still stood in the same spot, hand extended where Hodges had let it go and a stunned expression on her face. Greg noticed her silence and straightened, wiping a tear from his eye and trying to hide the wide grin on his face.

"Talk about awkward, huh?" he joked as he stepped closer.

For the first time since he'd met her, a flicker of annoyance showed on her face as she stared at him mutely.

"Yeah," she said flatly. Greg grimaced inwardly. Here he was, making fun of Hodges when he was too cowardly to ask her on a date. He was definitely the dope in this situation, not Hodges. She must think I don't like her if even Hodges can ask her out, in front of everyone, no less.

"You okay?" asked Catherine.

Viviane's face brightened into a relieved grin. "Oh yeah, I'm only a little bit creeped out," she laughed quickly.

"Hodges has that effect on people," grinned Warrick.

"Seriously. I didn't think he had that in him, though," said Catherine.

"At least he has guts," said Sara, throwing Greg a disapproving look.

Greg looked away guiltily. How could he explain to them that he had to do this on his own time? Tomorrow was the night — the party. Tomorrow everything would be settled; for better or for worse.


	9. Hallelujah

**In a gesture that's karmically expected, I was punished for my lateness in updating this story by having the Olympics steal my intent! Sigh. Now people are going to think I wrote this story/this chapter because of the opening ceremonies...Which I did not! I swear. I had this chapter written in 2009 already, and the story even earlier than that (hence the title). I don't begrudge them anything; obviously I love the song and k.'s version is one of the best, but I want to go on record by saying I had the idea first, hah. Like I said, punishment! **

**Anyways, it's been a nice journey. Enjoy the end.**

**p.s. Go World!**

______

Finally the night of the party rolled around. Though Greg could have been a mess, he had other things to worry about and the media circus seemed to hardly bother him. His friends at the lab couldn't believe such a complete change was possible and kept trying to bring him out into conversation; but he merely brushed off their repeated queries and said he was fine. Meanwhile, the looks he shared with Viviane left little to the imagination. They'd talked it over, and although nothing had officially been resolved, they both understood the situation. They were, essentially, a couple. And while their electric kiss had been a confirmation of sorts, Greg was old-fashioned enough that he wanted to make a formal declaration of intent. So, tonight would be the night. But Greg was somewhat surprised himself that he was so calm about the event, since it would undoubtedly be awkward. Somehow his conversation with Glenn a few days ago and his subsequent talk with Viviane had put him at ease about the media circus he'd soon be subjected to.

Then, also, was his excitement about the surprise he had planned. Thinking about it had been enough to keep Greg happy through the long time waiting, and by making preparations he was thus able to ignore the real meaning of the evening. The James family had already been seen on TV taking advantage of the media spotlight to unleash their agenda. Still, nothing seemed to bother him now that he had something else to look forward to. Maybe his mother's going to write a book, he chuckled to himself.

His parents had arrived the night before, and Greg focused on the fact that he was able to spend time with them this holiday season — Ecklie had even given him a few extra days off to keep up the charade and make them happy. He was most excited about them meeting Viviane and her brother, though. They'd be smitten instantly, just as he was. He smiled to himself as he put on his shirt. Tonight seemed more special than most Christmases.

______

Viviane opened her door to find a smiling Glenn outside, hands held behind his back. He was quite handsome in a tuxedo.

"You're late," she said with a grin and a wink.

"Well maybe I'll leave without giving you your present, ungrateful wretch," he retorted, stepping into her apartment and pulling a box from behind his back. He shook it just out of her reach.

Viviane raised her eyebrows excitedly as she closed the door. "What's this for?" She lunged for the box as he laughed at her. It was quite large and wrapped in sophisticated gray paper.

Glenn didn't answer. He smiled and leaned in to give her a hug and a gentle kiss on the forehead. "Oikein iloista joulua, pikkusisko," he whispered in her ear as he let her have the box.

Mystified at his sudden gentleness, Viviane laughed lightly and kissed him back with a playful shove.

"What's gotten into you tonight?" she smiled as she began undoing the box's wrapping. Lifting the lid, she found a beautiful evening gown in a deep midnight green, soft as silk and delicately heavy. She pulled it out gingerly and its flowing length fell to the ground. Breathing in wonder, she looked up at him in amazement.

"How did you? Why...? This must have cost you a fortune," she finished lamely.

Glenn smirked. "Viv? At a loss for words? Must be a special night indeed."

She shook her head at him mutely before pulling him into a crushing hug, tears glistening in her eyes. "Oh come here you annoying boy," she kissed him soundly on the cheek.

Glenn patted her back gently. "Come on, Viv. Go put that thing on and put it to shame. We're going to be late," he smiled.

______

Greg stood nervously at the entrance to the ballroom. If he'd been fine before, he wasn't completely now. The county had rented the largest ballroom in one of the largest hotels in Vegas, and apparently invited everyone but the president. Even the mayor was there, chatting with the sheriff while TV cameras hovered anxiously in the background. Greg had been photographed more times than ever in his life. His parents stood beside him just as nervously. If they hadn't known something was up before, they were certainly having suspicions now. Still, he didn't want to ruin their night, so he said nothing. Finally Greg spotted Grissom and the team entering and he waved them over with palpable relief. He even welcomed Hodges who trailed them.

"Grissom, everyone, these are my parents, Doug and Margit," he smiled, indicating the older couple beside him. The team introduced themselves politely.

"No date, Sanders?" smirked Hodges from his side.

Greg scowled at his greasy smile. "I didn't think it would be appropriate."

"Or maybe you asked Viviane and she burned you," said Hodges smugly.

"You mean like how she burned you?" retorted Greg, rolling his eyes and turning back to his parents. Hodges scowled at him as he headed into the main room.

"We should go inside," said Greg.

"Yeah I heard it's open bar," joked Catherine. She was beautiful in a floor-length ball gown, its rosy hue bringing out the colour in her skin. As she passed Greg she reached out to squeeze his shoulder reassuringly, and he was suddenly incredibly grateful for her lack of questions and most of all judgment.

"Hey guys!" came a voice from behind the group. Greg turned to see Glenn and Viviane making their way through the slowly dissolving crowd. If Greg had been smitten before, it was nothing to the feeling he had now. His breath caught in his throat at how beautiful she looked — and for once it wasn't from nervousness. She was just stunning. Her dress flowed silkily down her body and her pale skin was almost luminescent against the dark green of the gown. Her hair shone a fiery orange under the warmth of the hotel's chandeliers. Glenn stepped up beside her, his usual amused smile present. Greg was used to it by now, so he grinned back, finally in on the joke.

"Mom, Dad, this is my co-worker Viviane and her brother Glenn Lahtinen," he said, turning to his parents. The rest of the group had already left to enter the ballroom. "Remember I told you about them — they lived in Norway for a while."

His mother perked up excitedly. "Where did you live?" she asked.

"I lived in Oslo," said Glenn. "Viv was in and out of Mo i Rana and Narvik."

"My goodness! Why would you want to live there? It's in the arctic circle!" cried Greg's mother.

Viviane laughed. "Actually it was my job. I trained people to survive being stranded on mountains and tundras."

Greg's father whistled under his breath. "You're far too pretty to be traipsing around in the cold in furs," he said, winking at her.

"Wow, this must be where Greg gets that sense of humour from," she responded with a laugh.

His parents beamed approvingly when Viviane's back was turned, and Greg smiled happily to himself. She was a hit, as he'd known she would be. So far, so good.

"I think I'll go get us all drinks," said Glenn, turning to Viviane. "Anything in particular, Viv?"

She made a face. "Surprise me."

Glenn nodded, turning to Greg's parents. "Can I get you two anything?"

"Why thank you, I'd love some red wine," smiled Mrs. Sanders, shooting Greg a teasing look. "Our son seems to be daydreaming."

"I was going to get it!" He sighed theatrically. "Even my parents are against me!"

"Poor boy," smiled Viviane.

Greg's father winked at him. "I'll take a Scotch on the rocks," he said to Glenn.

"Nothing for me, thanks," said Greg. He definitely wanted to be alert this entire night and he'd never been one for liquid courage.

Glenn stepped away and into the main room, while Greg's mother converged on Viviane. "So, dear, how do you like Las Vegas? It's must be so different."

"Oh, it's all right. I lived in Phoenix before this, so compared to that Vegas has been a breeze," she replied, smiling brightly.

"I'm sure it was," smiled Mrs. Sanders politely. "What about your parents? Couldn't they make it?"

Greg cleared his throat hastily, cutting off the conversational train wreck before Viviane had a chance to respond. "Hey, why don't we go inside and take our seats?"

"Let's go mom, dad," he pushed them ahead of him into the ballroom, which was decorated in gold and silver. Even Greg had to appreciate the artful spectacle it portrayed — a mix of 'Peace on Earth' and 'Let Bygones be Bygones'. It would have been perfect if not for the cameras in the corner that followed their every move.

As dubious guest of honour, Greg's table was close to the front, while the lab employees had more modest places near the back. With his parents walking ahead, he stepped up to Viviane and whispered into her ear.

"Merry Christmas."

She smiled at him. "Merry Christmas to you, too. It's not as bad as you thought, huh?" She looked around.

Thanks to you, he thought warmly. Instead he nodded. "It's also officially been 6 months since you were shot. You can sing again," he grinned.

"Yeah," she nodded, grimacing. "But I'm probably all out of practice."

"I'm sure you sound just as good anyways," he said, winking. She laughed lightly.

"Here we are," said Glenn as he came over carrying two glasses.

"Mm, thank you," said Viviane, taking one and sniffing at the amber liquid. A look of dreamy happiness crossed her face. "Thank you _very_ much."

"Cointreau. Straight up; on the rocks," Glenn smiled to Greg. "Her favourite. Our seats are over there." He pointed to a spot near the middle of the room.

Viviane grimaced. "Oh, great. Glenn, you're sitting between me and Hodges. If he hits on me one more time..."

"I can shoot him if you want," offered Glenn with a straight face. Greg grinned at Viviane, nodding his head as if agreeing, then noticed the band setting up to play. He excused himself quietly and left Viviane with her brother.

______

God I hope Glenn was right and she doesn't kill me for this, thought Greg, eyes wide and starting to sweat profusely under his tuxedo. He peeked out into the audience from behind the stage curtains and gulped. It was all well and good to plan something like this, but what if it completely backfired? He was banking everything on this.

Viviane sat in relative peace. All in all, the night was going well. The buffer Glenn provided was enough to deter Hodges from any plans he might have had for her, and Glenn was finding his own entertainment in his chat with Bobby Dawson about firearms. Grissom was engaging Sara in something that looked quite intimate, judging by the bubble of protective privacy they seemed to draw around themselves. Viviane smiled wistfully at them and took a sip of her drink and a cursory glance around the ballroom in the hopes of seeing Greg, but he was nowhere to be found. Eventually a tap on her shoulder startled her and she turned to face one of the liveried waiters. He whispered something into her ear and she nodded, standing up with a bemused look at Glenn. She followed the waiter through back ways into the staging area.

Glenn followed her movement with an amused grin, then went back to his conversation.

______

Stopping the band with a practiced flair, the night's announcer stepped onto the stage. Greg smiled in anticipation and made his way back into the main room.

"And now, I'm told we have quite a special surprise planned for this evening," boomed the announcer to the waiting crowd. They rustled in anticipation, and from Greg's vantage point as he made his way across the side walls, it was obvious Ecklie and McKeen were none too happy with this unexpected turn of events. Greg smiled to himself wickedly.

"This year has been one of many hardships for the hardworking people of the Las Vegas Crime Lab, and I'm told we have quite a survivor right here in the hall. I'm also told that she has consented to grace us with a little song. Please join me in welcoming the very lovely DNA technician, Viviane Lahtinen to the stage!"

Greg leaned back against the wall, slightly obscured by a tall festive arrangement as he listened to the polite applause from the audience. There would be plenty of time later to talk to everyone, but right now Greg just wanted to enjoy the fruits of his labour alone.

Viviane came out from behind the curtains and stepped up to the microphone. She was even more breathtaking under the warm spotlight, and Greg smiled widely. Just seeing that peaceful smile on her face was enough for him — because only he knew how difficult the past few months had been for her. Above all else, singing was ubiquitous with Viviane, and the loss of that simple ability had been the hardest test to her legendary patience.

Viviane scanned the crowd and her eyes fell on Greg; hidden though he was. She always managed to find him, wherever he was. But he was all right with that. Her face softened and then broke into a brilliant smile. When the first few notes of the familiar song poured out of the grand piano, surprise flashed across her face and turned into an even brighter smile.

She closed her eyes and mustered her strength, and as she began to sing Greg breathed out all the pent-up energy he'd been holding for the past year. It was all worth it just to see that joy infusing her face as she sang her favourite song with all her strength.

"Her beauty, in the moonlight, overthrew you,

She tied you,

To a kitchen chair,

She broke your throne, she cut your hair,

And every breath we drew was Hallelujah."

Viviane's voice throbbed with emotion. Greg stared mesmerized as it soared into the rafters and over people's heads; their eyes met and it was as if she was singing to him alone.

"Hallelujah...Hallelujah..."

Viviane lowered her face as the last notes fell away; emotionally spent; but the hall was silent for a long moment, stunned into place by the enormous melody that had engulfed them. Suddenly a roar of applause erupted, and both Viviane and Greg jumped. They'd been so engrossed in each others' gaze that the entire world had melted away. Viviane straightened and faced the room, bowing slightly to the tumultuous applause.

Greg smiled gratefully and breathed a great sigh, slumping against the wall with exhaustion. Now that he wasn't the only one standing, he made his way again to the bar where he could see his parents and Glenn conversing with Grissom and Catherine. As he walked closer he could hear their conversation.

"—been singing since she was 4. She had an offer from the Sibelius Academy, but decided not to pursue it as a career," Glenn was explaining.

"Greg!" exclaimed Catherine. Her eyes were misty and she was smiling knowingly. "That was a really nice thing you did."

"Oh, it wasn't so special," he smiled and winked at her.

"Mm..." she grinned.

"It was really nice, Greg," agreed Sara, glancing with veiled exasperation at Grissom. Greg cocked his head and his eyes laughed at her.

His mother was beaming at him. Definitely going down in the history books for this one, he thought smugly, relishing the disgruntled look on Hodges' face. Glenn smiled at something behind Greg's back.

"Here it comes," he murmured.

Greg turned to see Viviane making her way through the crowd towards him. Her face was flushed as she reached the group and for a minute she did nothing but stare at him, chest heaving and eyes wide. Her heart was in her eyes; ready for the plucking, but still she said nothing.

Finally, she reached up to place a trembling hand on his chest. Unshed tears glistened like diamonds, and all Greg wanted to do was kiss them away, but he just waited.

"Oh, Greg," she began, face radiant. But as tears threatened to spill she suddenly took a deep breath, clutched his shirt desperately and leaned to kiss him firmly on the lips.

Greg froze in surprise, and she pulled away quickly. Smiling at him briefly, she turned and ran back into the crowd, face hidden behind a mass of fiery hair. Greg licked his lips where they'd touched, mind still reeling and body tingling with excitement. He was startled out of his reverie by a low cat-call from behind him. He turned, blushing, as Nick and Catherine grinned at him mischievously, and even Sara laughed at him.

"Well, stud, go after her," laughed Catherine.

"Yeah, go already," said Glenn quietly. His strange tone of voice made Greg paused, but Glenn only winked and flashed a smile.

Grinning, Greg walked away from the group and in the direction Viviane had gone.

______

He found her thankfully alone outside the main hall on the balcony that looked over the property. The soft yellow light of the ballroom bathed everything in a warm glow. Her back was turned to him as she leaned on the railing, hands resting lightly on the rough stone blocks.

He walked slowly across the flagged stone of the veranda, not exactly sneaking but not necessarily making his presence known. His fingers itched to brush away the stray hairs clinging to the nape of her neck, and he stopped behind her, not quite a foot away.

It's now or never, he thought.

She seemed to finally acknowledge his presence and turned her head, regarding him with soulful eyes.

"Hey, Viv," he smiled.

"You've never called me that before," she said, turning completely to face him.

"I thought you liked it?"

"I do," she leaned back against the stone. "It's a beautiful night, isn't it?"

"Extremely," he said, not quite talking about the night as he drank in her luminous face, lit by the smooth yellow lights from inside.

"Still, I miss...the snow," she smiled, lifting her face to look at the heavens. "It doesn't quite feel like Christmas, without a snowfall. Must be my Nordic blood."

Greg followed her gaze. "You can actually see the stars tonight. It must really be a special night."

"The most special." She reached up and placed a hand on his chest, meeting his eyes.

"I'm sorry I ran out of there earlier; I was just so emotional...so touched. I wanted to give you a proper thank you. So...thank you so much, for what you did — for what you've done."

Greg looked into her eyes and smiled, finally at peace with the moment.

"You're welcome. I wanted to thank you, too."

"For what?"

"For making this night not about me and what happened."

She nodded, smiling warmly.

Greg took a deep breath, teetering on the edge. Now was the time. He grinned, taking the last step and plunging headfirst.

"I know this is very belated, but...would you like to go out with me?"

He waited, hardly daring to breathe as his words filled the air between them. All of a sudden her face exploded into a smile and she lunged forward, crashing into his chest. All the tension he didn't know he was holding disappeared and his shoulders relaxed as he heard the words he longed for.

"Oh, Greg, I thought you'd never ask."

He brought his arms around, cradling her body gently. Her face nestled in the crook of his neck, cheek pressed against him.

"I would have sooner, only I —"

"Sshh...No apologies," she whispered.

Greg smiled, content to just hold her and inhale that sweet scent.

"How did you ever convince Ecklie to let you plan this?" she asked eventually.

"I didn't. He didn't know anything about it. I slipped the MC a fifty."

Viviane laughed with him, then settled her cheek again into the crook of his neck. Greg hoped it would become a favourite position, because he loved the feel of her hair against his neck.

"Well I guess now I know why Glenn bought me this dress," she murmured after a moment.

"He did, huh?" said Greg. "I might just have to thank him for that somehow. You look gorgeous — almost lost my nerve when you were standing up there."

"It's a good thing you didn't," she whispered, clutching him tightly.

"Definitely," smiled Greg, resting his cheek against her head.

It felt like they stood there forever, holding each other and needing no conversation, but it was only a few long minutes before they parted. Greg slipped his hand tentatively into hers, and she accepted with a smile.

"It took me a while to get here," explained Greg. "I don't want to let go."

Her response was a tight squeeze of the hand, and they headed back inside, hands linked for all the world to see.

______

Glenn watched Viviane and Greg re-enter the ballroom holding hands with a wistful expression.

"I'm losing her, aren't I," he said softly to no one in particular.

Greg's mother placed a calm hand on his arm. "Don't think of it as losing someone," she smiled at him. "Think of it as gaining someone new."

"Yeah," said Glenn softly, eyes distant.

When they rejoined the group, smiling shyly, Greg and Viviane were greeted warmly by everyone, except maybe Hodges.

"And so ends the most tortured and drawn-out courtship in history," laughed Catherine.

Greg and Viviane grinned at each other. And then, in front of everyone, Greg caught Viviane in a deep kiss. Yes, it was an end, of sorts, but the start of something much better.

______

"Oikein iloista joulua, pikkusisko" = Merry Christmas, little sister.


End file.
